


Dolls for Rent, Heroes for Hire

by Disneymagics



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jensen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Jensen Ackles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disneymagics/pseuds/Disneymagics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's life is turned upside down the night he meets an intriguing young man who seems to have multiple personality disorder.  Is he Dean - dangerous, charming and troubled?  Or Jensen - naive and almost child-like?  This chance encounter leads to a job offer with a mysterious organization called the Dollhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

Prologue

The motel door snicks closed and Dean jerks awake. 

A bead of sweat trickles through the short hair at his temple. His eyes feel gritty and puffy from too little sleep, and yet he's grateful for the noise that woke him. Better that he exist in a state of constant exhaustion than be treated to the 3D panoramic nightmares his brain insists on inflicting on him every night. The blood and fire, the screams, the acrid smell of human waste, the hooks digging into his flesh.

He drags a trembling hand over his face and sits up just in time to hear a car pull away from outside their room. With one look around, he knows the score. The bed next to his is empty, the bathroom light is out, and the laptop sits idle. The room is eerily quiet.

Adam is gone, probably off playing house with Ruby. That skanky demon bitch.

Typical.

Dean is alone, but that's okay. He doesn't need anyone to hold his hand and tell him everything is going to be all right. He's not a teenage girl, for God's sake, he doesn't need to be fucking comforted. Never mind that he can't seem to go five minutes without scenes from some fucked-up horror show flashing through his head, that everything he eats tastes like ash, that he hasn't slept properly in months, and that the only person left in the world who he can trust would rather be with a demon than with him.

His brother is a big boy, he can do what he wants, but if he thinks Dean's going to sit around in a motel room, twiddling his thumbs until he gets back from whatever super important, secret business he has with Ruby, he's got another thing coming.

Swinging his legs off the bed and padding, barefoot, over to the laptop where it sits on the small table, Dean jabs at a few keys. Yesterday's research appears on the screen, pictures of gargoyle-like faces, feathered wings, and razor-sharp talons.

All their research points to harpies as the culprit for the strange goings-on in this town and, since harpies are nocturnal, this is the perfect time to hunt them. No point in waiting one more day to follow up on a few more clues like Adam had suggested because, guess what Dean? Turns out Adam's concern about not being adequately prepared is just an excuse to give him more time with his gal pal.

What a joke.

Dean clenches his teeth together and barely restrains himself from punching a hole in the motel room wall.

Fine. No problem. The way he feels right now, a nest full of harpies will be child's play and he's more than ready to gank the sons of bitches. Having someone to watch his back would be nice, but the lack of back up isn't a game stopper.

He pulls on his socks and shoes, shrugs into his jacket, and tucks his favorite knife into the sheath at his ankle. These harpies have made their nest in the middle of a metropolitan area. Gunshots would be too conspicuous, and besides, he's in the mood for a little hand to hand. There's nothing like a good knife fight to get the old blood pumping.

Once he's ready, he heads out to his beloved car. She's right where he left her and it's a good thing too. If Adam had taken her on his little demon love rendezvous, Dean would have really been pissed.

The subconscious part of his brain notices the black van that pulls out of the parking lot behind him, notices it and dismisses it at the same time. The black van always follows him because...it just does. There's nothing unusual about it and no need to investigate.

Chapter 1

Jared fidgets and sighs.

Stake-outs are boring.

No matter what Hollywood tries to make people believe, the simple truth of it is that stake-outs rarely result in high-speed chases, explosions with molten balls of flame, or gun fights. Nope. Stake-outs are mostly about sitting under a busted streetlight in an unmarked car, looking as inconspicuous as possible, and watching a stretch of back alley for any movement that doesn’t result from rats or roaches. Also, there are rarely – make that never – any beautiful people, men or women, who need to be rescued. Which is a shame, really, because Jared is a kick-ass rescuer, or at least he would be if anyone needed rescuing.

…

…

…

He’s so fucking bored.

And he can’t even take out his cell to play Clash of Clans because then he won’t be watching the alley and, of course, the moment he looks away, that’s when something important will go down and he’ll miss it.

It’s times like these that Jared wonders why he went into law enforcement.

He heaves a huge, put-upon sigh and glances at the clock in his dashboard – 2:36am. 

Many parts of Vancouver are still hopping at this time of night, tourists out enjoying all the night life the city has to offer, locals making their way between their favorite hole-in-the-wall bars. The city is known for its clean, safe environment and in some areas it’s not uncommon to see people happily milling around outside at all times of the day and night. 

This isn’t one of those areas, however. Located on the wrong side of the Chinese district, the streets here are completely deserted, a smell of decay heavy in the air despite the cool autumn weather.

One of the muscles in his left thigh gives a warning twinge, as though it’s about to erupt into the searing pain of a Charlie-horse. Jared shifts uncomfortably while trying to find some way to straighten his left leg in the too-tight confines of the front seat without jamming his right knee into the steering wheel. He’s only partially successful.

Jared scowls as he rubs his thigh with one hand and his knee with the other. But he never stops watching the alley.

His vigilance is rewarded when he sees a dark shadow peel away from one brick wall. The figure skulks deeper into the alley, body crouched in a combat-ready position, alert and predatory. There's something in its hand, a knife maybe? This doesn’t look like the drug deal Jared had been expecting, but it’s definitely suspicious enough to warrant his full attention.

The figure pauses and briefly looks back the way he – Jared is almost positive the shadow-clad shape is that of a man – had come. Then he looks up, as though he’s searching for something and has no idea where it might be. As though his quarry is capable of scaling walls just as easily as it might hide behind the dumpster at the far end of the alley.

Apparently satisfied that nothing of interest lurks above him, the man faces forward and continues to slink further into the narrow space between the consignment shop and the laundromat. The alleyways in this part of the city are meant for foot traffic only and have as many branches, turn-offs, and dead-ends as a maze. Jared now has two options: stay in the car and lose sight of the suspicious man, or leave his car behind and go after him.

With stealth uncommon to a man with a six foot, five inch frame, Jared exits his vehicle and follows the dark shape. Putting his years of surveillance work to good use, he carefully maintains an appropriate distance for remaining undetected while never risking the loss of his target. 

Not long after he enters the passage, the air takes on a leaden quality, moist and thick, as if a sudden fog has just rolled in, except that his visibility isn’t impaired at all. Every breath he takes feels as though the oxygen is sticking in his throat instead of reaching his lungs. A change in air pressure causes his ears to pop and the only sounds - those of his shoes softly scuffing the pavement and distant traffic - become even more muffled. If he didn’t know better, the stifling, oppressive atmosphere would have Jared looking around for a dementor from those Harry Potter books.

The man he’s following seems completely unfazed by the bizarre change in air consistency as he ducks around a corner about twenty paces ahead. 

Jared slows when he gets to the corner, caution winning out over the desire to regain visual contact. With one hand on his holstered gun, he presses his shoulder against the brick wall and flexes his knees, ready to pivot and dodge or fall back, depending on what he finds once he clears the blind spot.

But before he can make his move, a violent downdraft buffets Jared’s hair into his eyes. There's a screech, like metal grating on metal, loud in the oppressive stillness. A loud booming sound rings out. And then nothing.

The air pressure returns to normal and Jared takes a deep breath, surprised by how easy it suddenly is to fully expand his lungs again. His heart is pounding, blood thumping like a muted drum beat in his ears. 

Even though he's been in several violent altercations with less than stable individuals, none of his previous experiences have left him feeling quite this spooked. Something strange is happening here. Something unnatural. The fine hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle, but there’s no way he’s going to retreat and call for back up. Not without first figuring out what’s going on and what part that mysterious man plays in it all.

Jared unholsters his gun, shakes the hair out of his eyes, and rounds the corner.

The man is standing about ten feet away, his back to Jared as he closely examines the wall in front of him with a flashlight. He seems utterly engrossed, oblivious to Jared’s presence. There’s no sign of a weapon, but he may have stashed it somewhere. Also, there isn’t anyone else in the alley. The man is alone.

At any other time, Jared would have been ordering the guy, in his most commanding, you-do-not-want-to-fuck-with-me voice, not to move and to put his hands in the air where he could see them. At any other time, he would have been in total control of the situation. But right now, Jared feels as though he’s been plucked out of his normal life and dropped into an episode of The Twilight Zone. None of this makes any sense. Jared hates when things don’t make sense.

Without turning to look at him, the man says, “Hey dude, can you come over here and tell me what you think about this?”

Jared startles and it’s possible that his mouth drops open, just a little, because he knows he didn’t make any noise, so how in the hell…?

The man turns to face him then, the skin around his eyes crinkling in amusement, a lopsided smile on his face, and Jared is immediately struck by how good-looking he is. He’s not just an average kind of attractive. He’s more like fatally attractive, as in drop-dead gorgeous. By the illumination of the flashlight beam, which the guy considerately keeps directed away from either of their faces, Jared sees a strong jawline, cleft chin, and light-brown, artfully-tousled hair. A worn, leather jacket accentuates his lean build and adds to his ‘bad boy’ demeanor, despite the fact that it appears to be one size too big for him.

“Sorry,” the guy says, still grinning, “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Given the lightly teasing tone, Jared doubts the truth of that statement. “What’s going on here? Who are you?” The words come out less authoritative than he had intended, but don't reveal how unsettled he feels. He’ll take what he can get at this point.

Nodding at the gun Jared still holds pointed in his direction, the man says, “Do you mind? I have some ID in my pocket, but you look like you’re about two seconds away from putting a bullet through my head just on principal. I swear, I’m not going to bludgeon you with my flashlight.” He quirks an eyebrow as he holds both hands out to show that, other than the flashlight, they’re empty.

Jared gets the distinct impression the guy is enjoying this whole strange situation. He grimaces and lowers his weapon. Being a beat cop, he’s a pretty good judge of character and this guy, while far from harmless, isn’t giving off any homicidal vibes.

The man acknowledges the lowered gun by reaching toward his jacket pocket. His hand doesn’t make it all the way there, though, before his shoulders slump; his gaze flicks to the side as though he’s having second thoughts about something. 

The hesitation lasts long enough that Jared has time to note the minute trembling in the flashlight beam where it shines on the concrete walkway. He wonders if maybe this guy isn’t as carefree as he’s trying to project. Maybe he’s more than the cocky punk he's pretending to be. Curiosity piqued, Jared waits, confident that if things go south, he'll be able to diffuse the situation without much trouble.

“Oh, what the hell,” the guy mutters under his breath. Then he straightens up and extends his hand. “Name’s Dean.”

Jared eyes his new acquaintance for a second, makes a snap judgment call, and steps forward, his own hand extended. “Jared.”

The look Dean levels at him as they shake hands reminds Jared of the look he might expect to get from a man who is coming clean for the first time in a very long time. There’s relief in it, and apprehension, and something like determined recklessness.

“So Dean, care to tell me what you’re doing out here at 2:30 in the morning? This isn’t the best neighborhood for a late night stroll.” A fat, brown rat underscores his point by choosing that moment to amble out of a discarded cardboard box nearby, whiskers twitching.

Dean glances at the rodent, gives an exaggerated shudder, and wrinkles his nose. “Yeah see, that’s the thing. This neighborhood…it’s bad all right, but not for the reasons you think. You probably think a bunch of drug dealers have moved in lately. Bizarre deaths, increased gang activity, skyrocketing drug overdoses, people acting all crazy, like they’re on a bad trip and they can’t come down.”

Jared nods, remembering the call he’d been on earlier that day. A young woman in the middle of the street, frantically tearing at her clothes and hair, screaming about the beetles that were burrowing into her skin. The non-existent beetles. Nothing had calmed her. The paramedics had ended up sedating her just to get her into the ambulance.

“You have an infestation. And you aren’t going to be able to get rid of it by sitting in your cruiser, staking out one entrance to this labyrinth.” Dean gestures to his right where the alley devolves into a warren of passages with shops and outdoor markets scattered here and there. "Oh, and hey, just between you and me, you might think about toning down the whole cop-on-a-stake-out thing you've got going on. I made you from like a mile away. Just a piece of friendly advice."

The slight on Jared’s surveillance skills irritates him, but his scowl only makes the corners of Dean’s lips twitch as though he’s holding in a laugh. It’s an expression Jared recognizes from back when his older brother used to get immense pleasure out of pushing all his buttons. “What kind of infestation? A rat infestation? What are you, some kind of pest control expert?” Jared quips, hoping for an answering flash of annoyance from Dean.

Dean just smirks, shrugs. “Something like that. We're in the family business, my brother and I...” He trails off, one hand coming up and rubbing at his eyes like an overly-tired toddler. When he brings his hand away from his face the playfulness is gone, replaced with an intensity that instantly changes the mood of their encounter. “Look man, I could give you some bullshit story about what I’m doing here, pump you for any information you might have, and then take off to handle this mess on my own. It’s not like it’d be the first time. Shit, I’ve dealt with worse than this by myself plenty of times, but…” He falters, takes a deep breath as the flashlight beam wavers unsteadily. “I don’t want to.”

They stare at each other, neither so much as blinking and, Jesus Christ, the stark anguish Jared sees for a moment in the other man’s features, there one second, gone the next. It nearly steals his breath away. What would someone have to go through, how much pain would they have to endure, to have it etched into their face like that?

Dean breaks eye contact first, looking down and away as though embarrassed by the brief lapse in his tough-guy persona.

“You mentioned an infestation. What kind of infestation?” Jared asks again, quieter this time, less confrontational. The least he can do is hear Dean out.

Dean’s head comes back up and he directs the flashlight toward the wall he’d been studying when Jared arrived. “See that?” he asks.

Embedded in the brick is something long and thin, like a needle, only much longer. Jared takes a step closer to get a better look, hand outstretched.

“Don’t touch it, unless you want a fun trip to the hospital’s detox center,” Dean warns.

Jared pulls his hand back. “What is it?”

“It’s a quill, hollow on the inside, barbed point on the end. It’s how they infect their victims. The toxins inside get injected as soon as the barb latches on to a target.”

"A quill? Like from a porcupine?" Jared can't wrap his head around what Dean is trying to tell him. Somehow he doesn't think the city has been overrun by thousands of poisonous porcupines. Either Jared has turned into a moron, or Dean is being purposefully cryptic.

A crease forms between Dean's eyebrows, as though Jared's question is a particularly difficult one. "Screw it," he finally says. "You're going to think I'm nuts, but...here goes nothing. It's not a porcupine quill. It's a quill from a harpy, you know, half bird, half woman, except that part isn't true, the woman part. The head and body are really more like a gargoyle." Dean stops babbling and juts his chin out defiantly, as though challenging Jared not to believe him.

"Right. It's a quill from a harpy. Okie dokie then." Jared silently begins assessing the most effective way to subdue a man in tight quarters without hurting him too badly. He doesn't want to hurt Dean, but he doesn't seem the type to submit quietly. If the guy is delusional and possibly armed with a knife, he has to be taken down before he can harm himself or others.

Dean chuckles. "Okie dokie," he says, breaking though Jared's thoughts about how glad he is that his handcuffs are within easy reach inside his coat pocket. "Dude, you're a hard-nosed, beat cop and you just said 'okie dokie'. That's priceless." He full out laughs then, head thrown back, eyes dancing, and it isn't a crazy, maniacal laugh. It's the laughter of someone who can find genuine amusement in a simple, corny saying that Jared had learned from his grandmother. "You're adorable."

Dean's laughter is contagious and Jared can't help the slightly embarrassed smile that finds its way onto his own face, even though he's still concerned about the guy's sanity.

"No, hey, I get it." Dean gives a last snort and nods. "It sounds crazy, right? I won't blame you if you decide I'm a nutcase. Fact is though, taking me in for questioning, or whatever you're planning, isn't going to solve your problem. But if you let me do my job, I can promise you, things will get better around here. And if you help me, we can get rid of the entire nest tonight. In the morning, you can pretend the whole thing was just a strange dream."

The sincerity in Dean's voice almost convinces him. For a moment Jared believes. He likes Dean, not only because he's hot, but also because he's funny, charming, and interesting. The kind of guy who is great to hang with. Jared wants to believe him. Wants to team up with him and fight monsters like some kind of dynamic duo. But all too soon, reality comes crashing back, because Dean is talking about harpies. Harpies. He's talking about fictional creatures as though they truly exist. The fact that Dean obviously believes in this craziness only makes what Jared has to do even more clear. There's no way he's waiting until Dean begins clawing at his skin and screaming about beetles like the poor woman from earlier in the day.

Sometimes Jared hates doing his job. This doesn't feel like a victory.

He reaches for his handcuffs, but his plans for subduing Dean are quickly forgotten when the sounds reach them: a car engine rumbling, a door opening and closing, footsteps coming closer.

Dean flips off his flashlight, flattens his back to the wall, careful to avoid the quill, and motions Jared to follow suit. Standing side by side in the dark, so close their shoulders touch, Dean puts one hand on Jared’s chest in a protective gesture that Jared finds reassuring, if a bit confusing, since he considers himself the protector.

The footsteps stop and a gruff voice calls out, “Dean, are you ready for your treatment?”

At hearing the voice, Jared feels the tension leave Dean’s body. He flicks his flashlight back on, gives Jared’s chest a final pat, and pushes away from the wall, all without saying a word. Apparently Dean knows this guy and isn’t afraid of him. The fact that Dean has stopped talking is unnerving though. Jared isn’t sure if he should announce himself, or follow Dean’s lead and stay quiet. He decides to stay quiet for now.

The man who comes around the corner has long, dark hair, a scar running through one eyebrow, and a barely noticeable com unit in his ear. Although he’s shorter than both Jared and Dean, his build is that of a fighter and he carries himself with a self-assurance and grace only someone who has trained his body as a lethal weapon can pull off. If Jared had to guess, he'd say he's had military training, special ops maybe.

Sparing Jared only a cursory glance, the guy walks straight up to Dean, looks him in the eye, and repeats, "Are you ready for your treatment?"

The effect of those six words is instantaneous and profound. Even by the diffuse flashlight beam Jared sees Dean's entire demeanor change. His expressive eyes go blank, the former vitality extinguished like a candle snuffed out by a brisk wind. His mouth hangs slack, facial muscles lax. Even his posture relaxes until he's leaning against the long-haired, special forces dude who gets an arm around him, holding him upright.

"Yes please, Christian." Dean murmurs.

In a lower register, as though he's talking to a young child or a skittish animal, Christian says, "Okay, that's good. You did good, Jensen."

Jared does a double take at the name change. He has no clue what's going on, but he knows he doesn't like it. Taking a step forward, he puts a hand on Dean's arm. "Dean, do you need help?"

Both men turn their attention on him. Christian's brows draw together in a scowl which Jared ignores. Instead, he watches Dean and waits for a response.

Dean's guileless gaze holds no recognition. He fidgets in place for a few beats before handing Jared the flashlight with a shy smile. "Here, you can have it," he says. Then he turns back to Christian. "I'm tired."

The scowl disappears as Christian answers, "I know you are. Come on, let's get you back to the facility and you can rest."

Dean nods and they begin shuffling toward the entrance to the alley, Christian visibly supporting much of Dean's weight.

Stunned, Jared considers whether he should stop them or let them go.

Christian takes the decision out of his hands. "Well, are you coming or aren't you?" he tosses over his shoulder. "Ms. Huffman wants to talk to you."


	2. Chapter 2

_  
  
Chapter 2  
  
_

The inside of the black van holds more surveillance equipment than Jared's precinct could afford in two years on their tight budget.  Monitors, buttons, and dials take up the entire back half of the vehicle.  Two stools are bolted to the floor in front of a console where red and green lights flash like a high-tech Christmas display.

The large, bald man sitting in the driver's seat looks Jared up and down through the open side door, brows furrowed.  "This the guy?" he finally asks.

"Yeah, he's the one."  Christian gives a brief nod while helping Dean - or possibly Jensen - get in and settled on the long bench seat between the surveillance set-up and the driver's seat.  Once that's accomplished, he rucks up Dean's pant leg and casually removes the compact blade nestled in a sheath at his ankle.  Dean doesn't object or even seem to notice that he's just been disarmed.

Annoyed by all the intrigue as well as at being discussed as though he were an inanimate object, Jared stands at his full height, shoulders squared.  "And you are?"

Christian finishes buckling Dean's seatbelt and says, "Clif likes to think he's the muscle, but really, he's just the chauffeur."

Clif flips Christian off and Christian smirks a self-satisfied grin before getting into the front passenger seat.

A million questions run through Jared's mind, but Clif starts the engine so there's nothing for him to do except get in and sit next to Dean on the bench seat, unless he wants to be left standing on the sidewalk, watching the black van drive off without him.  Trying to arrest all three of these men isn't going to work and besides, he doesn't have anything to charge them with.  This whole thing is beginning to smell like a covert government operation and he most likely won't get any information from the field troops anyway.  He figures answers will be forthcoming only once they arrive at their destination.  

His gun in its holster at his waist makes him feel as though he still has some control.  No one has tried to take it away from him which means it's not an abduction or hostage situation.  At least that's what Jared tells himself to justify his willingness to go with them.  Really though, it's more because his curiosity won't allow him to walk away from this.

Eyes closed and a peaceful look on his face, Dean begins nodding off as soon as they pull onto the deserted street.  Jared has never seen a grown man fall asleep so quickly.  He must have been beyond exhausted.  A dip in the road causes him to list sideways.  Jared thinks the movement will awaken him and he'll sit up, maybe embarrassed at having conked out like a young child.  Instead, he continues on a slide that will soon have him in an uncomfortable sprawl, held in place only by the seat belt around his middle.

Jared's naturally protective nature kicks in with a vengeance and he pulls Dean against his chest, supporting his head so that he's as comfortable as possible.  Even this fails to wake him.  The slight pout on his full lips only accentuates his vulnerability.  It's all Jared can do to stop himself from carding his fingers through Dean's hair, like he does with his cousin's little boy.

Dean seems so helpless now, as though he's shrinking somehow, getting smaller by the second.  He's not; he's still physically the same full-grown man he was in the alley.  But something has changed and Jared feels an overwhelming need to keep him safe, by whatever means necessary.

Christian looks back at them, expression unreadable, eyes flinty.  "I told Huffman they were working him too hard," is all he says.

Clif snorts, opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again when he catches Jared's eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"So, who is Huffman?" Jared asks.  It isn't his most urgent question, but it's a starting point.

"She runs the operation here in Vancouver and that's all I can tell you.  Anything else you want to know will have to wait until we get there."  Christian faces forward again, mouth set in a grim line.

Jared inclines his head.  Just as he'd suspected.

They pull into a parking garage in the middle of the downtown area.  The sign on the nearest building says Rossum Corporation.  Like most people, Jared is familiar with the name.  Rossum is a worldwide drug conglomerate and medical equipment manufacturer, responsible for the most recent advances in MRI technology.  News stories about the Company alternate between praise for medical breakthroughs and condemnation for scandals regarding everything from animal test subjects to fraudulent medical studies.  Allegations of misconduct on the part of the Company never stick however.

Clif parks next to several other black vans and Christian reaches back, waking Dean with a gentle shake, unlatching his seatbelt, and urging him out of the vehicle.  Dean is wobbly on his feet, the skin around his eyes puffy and red, but he doesn't make a fuss as Christian ushers him the short distance from the van to an elevator set in the concrete wall.  Clif boards the elevator as well and presses the down button.

Jared takes a last look around, committing the parking structure and his surroundings to memory, and then follows.

The elevator doors open on a service corridor, blank white walls, white tile floor, white ceiling, and not a window in sight.  Jared realizes they are now underneath the building, underneath the very streets of Vancouver.  At the far end is a set of double doors, also white.  Christian pulls the doors wide open and says, "Welcome to the Dollhouse, Jared."

For a moment Jared can't move. This is nothing like what he'd expected.  Through the double doors is the most lavish spa he has ever seen.  The decor consists of muted earth tones, warm browns along with calming blues and greens, burnished hardwood floors.  Exotic looking potted plants enhance the zen atmosphere.  An open floor plan draws his gaze up a wide, circular staircase which leads from the middle of the atrium-like first floor up to an observation platform on the second floor.

People dressed in loose fitting clothing, mostly white or light pastel in color, walk slowly and gracefully between areas on the first floor.  A yoga class is in progress on a slightly raised dais, about ten people moving through various poses in perfect synchronization.  Glass walls separate a dining area from rooms where men and women are receiving massages.  The overall effect is really quite beautiful, but the serene expression on every face he sees is somewhat disconcerting, even if he can't put his finger on why.

Dean has had the same expression ever since Christian showed up in that alley.

"Who are all these people?  What is this place?"  Jared asks.

Christian takes a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring, and narrows his eyes.  "Ms. Huffman will explain everything."  He puts a hand on Dean's back.  "I'm going to take Jensen for his treatment.  Clif will show you the way to Huffman's office.  She's waiting for you."

All four of them ascend the staircase.  At the top, Christian takes Dean to the left.  Dean walks with his head down, leaning against Christian, compliant, and Jared has the sudden image of a lamb being led to slaughter.  It's only with immense effort that he turns away, following Clif through a door on the right.

He is greeted immediately by a tall redhead wearing a chic dress that shows off her trim figure.  Her very red lipstick matches her nail polish and her long hair is pinned up in an elaborate style, perfect ringlets framing her face. Everything about her screams good breeding and money.  Lots of it.

"Mr. Padalecki, I'm so glad you decided to accept my invitation."  The woman extends her hand and, for a second, Jared isn't sure whether he's supposed to shake it or kiss it.

He settles for giving her hand a brief squeeze, his own hand engulfing her much smaller one completely.  "You have an interesting way of inviting someone for a visit."

She smiles, but it's not a warm or friendly expression.  In a cold, emotionless voice she says, "Well, in my defense, Jensen caught us all off guard.  We weren't prepared for you tonight, Mr. Padalecki.  Even so, his timing couldn't have been better."

Jared runs a hand through his hair, frustration making his movements jerky and his voice tight.  He's not in the mood for more cryptic statements.  He's been more than patient and now it's time for some fucking answers.  "What does that even mean, _you weren't prepared for me_?  And what did your men do to Dean?  What are they doing to him now?  Is he okay?"

Ms. Huffman crosses to a sideboard and pours herself a drink from a crystal decanter.  Tilting the bottle, she offers to pour one for him.

Jared declines.  Technically, he's still on the clock and he's pretty sure he's going to need a clear head for whatever comes next.

"The man you met tonight - Dean?  That man doesn't exist," Ms. Huffman says.

Jared wonders if the woman could be any more vague.  He snorts his displeasure because this is getting ridiculous.

The woman takes a long swallow and places her glass on the ornate table.  "Okay, let me cut to the chase.  Tonight, you met Jensen.  Like all our Actives, he signed a contract, turning his body and his mind over to the Rossum Corporation for a term of five years.  Our carefully-screened clients are given access to him for various purposes.  By means of a highly technical process, we are able to make him into whatever the client requests.  If they want a race car driver, he is given the memories, personality and skills of a race car driver.  If they want a night of passion they'll never forget, he's given the requisite skills.  You get the picture."  She smiles a crocodile's grin.  "At the end of the five years he gets to leave, mind restored and body intact, with a significant increase in his bank account.  Jensen has been with us for three and a half years."

All the while, Ms. Huffman stares at Jared as though her gaze alone can bore right through him; tear him apart and put him back together in a pattern of her own choosing.  Jared stares back, listening intently, waiting for her explanation to become rational.

"Our Actives give us a great privilege and with it comes great responsibility," she continues loftily, as though she's addressing a board room full of business men.  "It's our duty to protect them when they are out on an engagement, as well as when they are in their most vulnerable states as dolls.  Although everyone on staff here at the Dollhouse looks after them, each Active is assigned a handler whose sole responsibility is keeping that one Active safe.  Christian Kane is Jensen's handler, but Jensen is a special case and it has recently come to my attention that a second handler would be in his best interests.  So you can understand why we have need of your services, Mr. Padalecki."

Jared feels both his eyebrows go up in astonishment at the cool, dispassionate way in which the woman has just described what amounts to human slavery and trafficking once you get past all the crazy talk.  "Actually, Ms. Huffman, I'm afraid you're going to have to explain it to me again, starting with how this is legal, much less moral."

She purses her bright red lips together and says, "I assure you that none of our Actives are here against their will.  They all have reasons for wanting to be here.  They come to us, we don't do anything to persuade them.  Jensen is no exception."

"Fine.  For the sake of argument, let's say I believe you."  He doesn't believe her, doesn't believe any of it, and even if they do have signatures on a piece of paper, that doesn't make this right.  But he needs to keep her talking.  The more he knows and understands about what's happening here, the better his chance at ending it.  "Why me?  Why do you want _me_ as Jensen's second handler?"

Tapping her lacquered fingernails against the table behind her, she cocks her head in an assessing manner, as though she's not really sure herself.  "Because Jensen chose you.  He took you into his confidence while working a case as Dean.  He's never done that before, gone to an outsider for help.  And maybe it's because we've given him more than he can handle, I'm not sure."  For the first time since beginning her explanation, she breaks eye contact, gazing at a stretch of blank wall over Jared's shoulder.  With a shake of her head and a grimace, she continues.  "Whatever the reason, he trusted you immediately.  We all saw it.  Your training in law enforcement is a plus that will come in handy as well."

Every answer she gives him only brings up more questions.  It's infuriating.  "Wait a minute, back up.  What do you mean, _he was working a case as Dean_?  And while you're at it, how about telling me what a _doll state_ is and why these people need protecting in the first place."

Ms. Huffman sighs and waves one hand dismissively in the air.  "I hate this part.  You'll have to talk to Aldis if you want more information, he invented the technology and he loves talking about it, the smug bastard."  She glances at the expensive looking watch on her slim wrist.  "He's probably finishing up Jensen's treatment now.  You'll want to see Jensen too, I suppose?"

Jared nods.  Yes, he definitely wants to see Jensen, make sure he's okay.  All this talk about using peoples' minds and bodies has made him even more concerned for Jensen's well-being than he had been in the alley when Dean began talking about harpies.

She escorts him to what she calls 'the treatment room', where opulence gives over to high-tech computer equipment.  Display screens line the walls and sit on utilitarian tables, some showing human brain scans, others charting what looks like brain wave activity.

Jensen lies in a strange apparatus that looks like a futuristic dentist's chair, only more sinister.  There are electrodes pasted to his head and his eyes are closed.  Although his wrists are buckled into the contraption, he appears so tranquil that he could be asleep or possibly sedated.

The dark-skinned man standing over Jensen startles when they walk in, as though he's not used to being interrupted while he's working.  "Ms. Huffman?" he says, hands suspended mid-air, a cassette tape dangling from one.

"Aldis, this is Jared.  He's considering my employment offer and has some questions for you about your part in the process."

In his head, Jared disputes the assertion that he would consider working in this place, but he lets the comment go for now.

Aldis' boyish face lights up like he's just been given the Nobel Peace Prize.  "Ah yes, well, the tech really is over the top.  Not to boast or anything."  He grins, flashing white teeth.  "What do you want to know?  How we wipe their memories?  Or how we imprint them with new personalities?  Maybe you're wondering about the genius involved in splicing together personalities from the hundreds of MRI scans transmitted here daily."

Jared's breath comes in shallow puffs.  He purposefully slows his intake of air until he no longer feels lightheaded.  Wipe their memories?  This can't be real.  Technology like that hasn't been invented and hopefully never will.  His gaze travels from Aldis to Ms. Huffman and he's sure his shock must be written all over his face.

"Jared was asking about the doll state.  Why don't you start there?" she answers for him.

Aldis makes a humming noise while he places the cassette tape in a cabinet full of shelves upon shelves of similar tapes.  "Right, the doll state.  That's an easy one.  Dolls are like newborns."  He indicates Jensen's motionless form.  "They have no memories of their previous lives and their interactions are very childlike.  It's important to minimize their stress levels.  They can't handle anything traumatic."

"Yes, I've seen that, but-"

"Watch, I'll show you," Aldis interrupts.  He unbuckles the cuffs from around Jensen's wrists, removes the electrodes, and gives his shoulder a light nudge.  "All done, Jensen."  His voice, when he addresses the prone man, is modulated, almost whisper soft.

Jensen's eyes blink open and he stretches, sits up slowly.  In a daze, he looks around the room and, from his blank expression, it's difficult to tell whether he registers that he has an audience.  The difference between this, and Dean's highly aware state, is like the difference between night and day.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asks, a slight furrow in his brow.

Aldis adopts a non-threatening pose with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.  "For a little while."

"Shall I go?"

"If you wish," Aldis responds.

Their exchange has the feel of a ritual about it.  Jared watches, spellbound, as Jensen swings his legs off the reclining chair, stands, and walks from the room.  At the door, he turns and their eyes lock.  That same, timid smile from before appears on his lips.

"Jared," he mouths.

"What is this, Aldis?  I thought you wiped him."  Ms. Huffman sounds annoyed, voice shrill.

"Quietly, Alaina," Aldis hushes her.  "I did wipe him."  Gently, he takes Jensen's arm and guides him across the threshold to where Christian is just coming up the spiral staircase.  "Why don't you go with Christian?  He'll take you to get some food and then you can have a nap if you like."

"Okay," Jensen nods, allowing the transfer, this time without looking back.

"Was that a glitch?  Is he glitching?" Ms. Huffman demands as soon as Jensen is gone.

Aldis shakes his head, tapping the keys on the nearest keyboard.  A new brain scan appears on the screen, Jensen's presumably.  "I don't know.  Maybe," he mumbles.  "This isn't an exact science, you know?  More of an art."

Jared scrunches his eyes closed and rubs at his temples.  He's starting to get a migraine.  "Glitches and memory wipes.  You're talking about him like he's a robot.  Jensen isn't a robot."  Of that one thing Jared is sure.  "He's a person, a human being.  You can't wipe a person's memories away.  People's brains don't work the same way as computers."  He shouts the last sentence, hands thrown up in the air.

"That's where you're wrong."  Aldis points at the monitor he's still analyzing.  "A person's brain works very much like a computer.  The neurons firing are like electronic circuits.  All it takes to wipe a person's memory is the right combination of drugs and tech.  And once their brain has been wiped clean, a blank slate if you will, it's easy to program them to do whatever you want them to do, be whoever you want them to be."  Aldis looks up from the red and blue blotches on the screen, smiling in a way that makes Jared's skin crawl.

These people are insane.  And what they're doing...Jared can't stomach it.  He doesn't care whether the Actives - or dolls or whatever they're called - are here of their own free will or not, they need help.  They aren't in any condition to speak for themselves so, until he can find a way to talk to them when they aren't in the child-like doll state and when they haven't been programed with a fake personality, he's going to assume they don't want to be here.  For all he knows, they signed contracts with Rossum thinking they were going to be part of a medical study, never dreaming they were going to be used as mindless puppets.

The tricky part is figuring out how to free them.  Rossum is a powerful corporation.  It must have high level political connections to have dodged all the allegations of wrong-doing that have been thrown at it over the years.  Make enough political contributions and you become invincible.  

Jared knows there's no way they would risk letting him see this far into their operation, tell him everything he's been told, if they weren't one hundred percent sure the government was in their corner.  No, exposing the Dollhouse from the outside won't work, Jared is sure of that.  Luckily, he's already been offered an in.

"Yeah, I'll do it.  I'll take the position.  I'll have to quit my job with the force, but yeah.  I accept."

Ms. Huffman studies him, head cocked, and then her mouth widens in a humorless smile.  "You already care for him."  Without giving Jared a chance to respond, she continues.  "That's good.  Your job is to take care of him, protect him.  Liking him will only make your job easier."

Her callousness infuriates him.  The way she talks about Jensen like he's nothing more than a toy, or a science project, makes Jared's insides twist.  

Smothering his anger, Jared pretends interest in the mundane details of accepting a new position; asks about the salary, makes arrangements to surrender his sidearm and tender his resignation at the precinct, and receives instructions on his new job responsibilities, which mainly consist of being available whenever he's needed to help with Jensen, day or night.  He doesn't worry about why Jensen will need him.  Now that he's got the job, that information should come soon.

A knock on the door comes right as they're finishing up the paperwork in Ms. Huffman's office.  Christian doesn't wait for permission before he strides through the doorway, Jensen in tow.  If the look on his face is anything to go by, the man is not a happy camper.  

"Why dod you page me?  What is so important that it can't wait?" he snarls, voice rough as gravel.  "How can we expect him to do his job when we don't let him get any rest?"

Ms. Huffman smiles her icy smile.  "Now, now Christian, you know our client likes him sleep deprived.  Authenticity and all that."  She waves her hand in the air.  "Besides, we need him prepped for the handler/active imprint.  Jared has agreed to be his second handler.  Take them both to the treatment room.  Aldis is waiting."

Jensen is visibly flagging and Jared can't help but feel guilty for being partially responsible.  Hopefully, this imprint process thingy won't take long because Jensen looks about five minutes away from collapsing.

Christian growls something under his breath as he leads them back along the observation platform and into the treatment room.

Aldis secures Jensen to the chair, tightens the buckles at his wrists, and re-attaches the electrodes.  "Busy day for you, huh big guy?  This is your third treatment in one day.  Not that you remember the other two."

Obviously confused, Jensen simply lays there and looks at him as though he's speaking Japanese.

Aldis pats Jensen's shoulder in a condescending manner.  "Okay, great.  Nice talking to you too."  Then he turns around, glancing at a nearby monitor.  "I've got the program ready, so all I have to do is..."  He presses a button and blue light radiates from the metallic plates circling Jensen's head.  

Jensen's back arches off the chair, his fingers stiffening and scrabbling against the restraints, shoulders shaking, his face a rictus of pain.

Jared takes a step forward, intent only on Jensen's agony and finding a way to stop it, but Christian grabs his arm, holding him back.

"Easy son.  It'll be over in a minute," he says, voice grave.

Reluctantly, Jared stops.  "It looks like he's in pain," he grits out past clenched teeth.

"That's because he is in pain.  Having your brain wiped and receiving new programing is an invasive procedure.  It feels like dying."  Aldis speaks over the hum of the machinery and the rattling sounds caused by Jensen convulsing in the chair.  "He won't remember it though, so it's all good."

The scary thing is that Aldis actually seems to believe what he's saying.

Luckily for Aldis, Christian is right and it's over before Jared can act on his decision to shove the geeky genius's head through the nearest computer monitor, putting an end to Jensen's torture once and for all.

Aldis pushes another button and the blue light fades.  Jensen's body relaxes as the serene expression returns to his face.  When his eyes open, there's no pain, no fear, nothing that shows he remembers the trauma of being programmed.

"Okay, he's ready.  So Jared, you're gonna want to come over here."  Aldis points at a spot near Jensen's head while handing Jared a piece of paper.  "He's got to be looking in your eyes for this next part and you need to hold his hand.  Tactile proximity enhances the bonding protocol."

Jared carefully removes the restraint and picks up Jensen's left hand.  Jensen allows it, unquestioning, innocently gazing up at Jared.

It takes Jared a moment before he can look away and focus on the paper in his other hand.  "What's this?"

"That is your script for the imprint."  Aldis says.  He rolls his eyes in exasperation at Jared's blank stare.  You know, call and response?  Neural lock and key?"  He sighs and shakes his head.  

Christian steps in.  "It's like when I use the remote wiping phrase during an engagement.  He's programed to respond to the words.  If I say them without a visual connection, it's partially effective, but if I say it while looking him in the eye, it's much more so, at least until we get back here and Aldis can do the full wipe."

Waving his hand impatiently, Aldis says, "Whatever, just...read your lines, alright?"

Jared nods, anything to get this over with faster.  "Everything is going to be alright," he reads.

"Now that you're here," Jensen responds automatically, voice soft and full of awe.

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life."

A warm feeling rushes through him, almost as though he's the one being programmed.  Jared slowly releases Jensen's hand.

"That's all there is to it," Aldis says.  "You are now the most important person in his life."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

What in the ever-loving-fuck had he been thinking?

Jared paces a tight circle in his apartment's living room, intermittently shoving a hand through his hair in agitation and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, eyes squeezed shut.

Everything had happened so quickly back at the facility - the Dollhouse - last night, and now, in the clear light of day, he can't believe any of it actually happened, can't believe he let himself get drawn into all that craziness.

He's normally such a down-to-earth kind of guy, normally very practical. The most spontaneous thing he'd ever done, prior to last night, was to buy a pair of skinny jeans based on his friend, Genevieve's, assurance that they would make his ass look amazing. He has regretted that decision ever since. He grimaces as he tugs at the snug denim at his crotch, trying to get a little airflow.

And yet somehow, in the space of only a few short hours, he has given up his job as one of Vancouver's finest to accept a position with an organization that, well, to say it was shady would be vastly understating the truth of the matter. And he still hasn't been given a clear picture of what exactly he's supposed to be doing for them. The more he thinks about it, the more he questions his own sanity.

All that talk about memory wipes and personality imprinting seems surreal; his ideas of taking the organization down from the inside, childish. Rossum isn't going anywhere. The corporation has more lawyers than the ocean has fish, more money than a small nation. Jared is positive that any attempt he might make to expose the Dollhouse will only be a minor inconvenience to them. The most it might do is to cause them to duck and cover, move to a new location, and hadn't Christian said something about the Vancouver operation being only one of many?

As much as he likes fantasizing about swooping in and saving the day, Jared is no knight in shining armor. He can't save all those people. Maybe they don't even want or need saving.

But then an image comes to him - vibrant green eyes, laugh lines crinkling at the corners. Those same eyes, dull and blank and emotionless. Finally, he remembers the way they had looked at him as though he was everyone, and everything, in the entire world, trusting him to make everything all right.

He shakes his head at himself while wondering where he's going to stable his white steed and whether the local Walmart sells high quality plate mail. Yeah, knight in shining armor it is then. He can't abandon Jensen to that place, can't betray his trust.

The ringtone from his phone - I'm Too Sexy because Chad managed to get ahold of it the last time they went out drinking together and Jared is too lazy to change it - brings Jared out of the maelstrom of his thoughts. He grabs it off the counter, knowing who it will be before even looking at the display.

"Hey man, Jensen is awake and he's asking for you." Christian's voice sounds troubled and Jared wonders how often the actives request the presence of their handlers. Not often would be his guess.

Looking at his watch, he sees that it's 10:05am, barely four hours since he left Rossum by cab in the weak light of early morning. "He didn't sleep long," he notes.

"He never does, even with the moderate sedation gas they dose all the actives with in their sleeping pods." Christian says, a frown audible in his tone. "How quickly can you get back here?"

Jared makes a few calculations in his head, the time it will take to shower, a stop at Starbucks for his morning fix on the way, and comes up with an answer. "About an hour. That okay?"

A sigh comes over the line, but all Christian says is, "Yeah, see you when you get here," before he disconnects the call.

Thankful for the modified sleep cycle he's adopted to accommodate night shifts at the precinct and for the sleep he'd gotten prior to going out on that fateful stake-out last night, Jared scrubs a hand down his face as he heads toward the bathroom. It might be a while before he gets another opportunity to rest.

Christian is waiting for him, shoulder against the white wall, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed over his chest, when Jared steps off the elevator. There's probably surveillance equipment covering the entire building, including the parking structure. Not surprising.

"So, what's going on?" Jared asks as soon as he sees the other man.

"Bad dream near as I can figure," Christian says by way of an answer. "He woke up, shivering and sweating, then he started calling for you. Huffman is on a tear. Jensen is one of her most popular actives, he's valuable property, and now it looks like he's glitching." Spitting the last words and making a face like he smells something rotten, Christian pushes open the double doors that lead into the Dollhouse's lower level.

Jared frowns at Christian's use of the word property to describe another human being. He wants to ask Christian about whether he's truly okay with what's happening here, but for right now, there are more important questions to ask. "Why all the fuss over a bad dream? Everybody has them every once in a while."

"Not the dolls. They don't have memories of anything that would make them upset or scared." Christian leads him past the raised dais and through a common area with small tables where Actives sit in groups of twos or threes, quietly talking or eating. "The environment at the dollhouse is purposefully kept calm and pleasant. There's nothing in their experience here that would lead them to have bad dreams and they don't remember anything else."

Jared nods. "Makes sense. So that means if Jensen is having bad dreams, he must have memories from his previous life."

With a shrug, Christian arches one eyebrow. "Maybe, but I don't think so."

"What then?"

"I think he remembers his engagements. Not all of them, at least I hope to God he doesn't remember everything." Christian's jaw clenches, the muscles there bunching briefly. "But even if he only retains a small portion, it would be enough to give anyone nightmares, much less a doll."

The term 'doll' bothers Jared. It sounds so demeaning, so belittling. Just another way of treating these people like property, or playthings. "Where did that name come from? Dolls?" he asks.

Three young woman, all attractive with lithe, athletic bodies, walk past and Christian moves out of their way, a small, neutral smile on his face. He waits for them to walk on by before he answers.

"Dolls are fragile and their heads are empty, thus the slang term for Actives in between engagements after their memories have been wiped. In their doll state, they can't process any stress whatsoever, they have no defense mechanisms, no barriers. All the normal mental walls that adults develop to help them cope with life are stripped away during the memory wipes, leaving them vulnerable, easily broken." Christian uses both hands to mime breaking a stick or a pencil. "Have you noticed how none of the staff talk loudly around here? That's why. The dolls wouldn't know how to handle voices raised in anger. It would frighten them and when they're frightened, they act erratically."

They round a corner and come to a glass door, the words Medical Clinic, Doctor Dinwiddie etched on the front. Christian shoulders his way through the door and there's Jensen, sitting on the examination table in a pair of loose fitting track pants and a tee shirt, bare feet dangling off the side.

He looks up and smiles at them, but the smile is so tremulous it looks as though it could dissolve at any moment. "Jared, you came. Christian found you." He slips gracefully off the table, holding his hands out for Jared's inspection. "I have cuts on my knuckles."

The knuckles on both his hands are swollen and bruised, shallow cuts scoring hash marks across them, smeared with blood.

Jared gently takes Jensen's hands in his own, careful not to jostle any possibly broken fingers. "You certainly do. How did this happen? Is anything broken?"

The sound of a throat being cleared makes Jared look to his left where a dark-haired woman in a lab coat and designer glasses stands, a cotton swab in one hand and a bottle of antiseptic in the other. "No, nothing is broken, not even the lid to his sleeping pod. Those things are made to endure a great deal of force." She looks Jared up and down, letting her gaze linger suggestively on his chest and his ass, lips turned up in a playful smirk, before turning back to her patient. "Back up on the table, Jensen."

Jensen complies and the woman, who Jared assumes is Doctor Dinwiddie as there's no one else in the clinic, begins liberally applying antiseptic to Jensen's knuckles.

Jared's blush at being eyed like a hunk of fresh meat subsides, replaced by dawning outrage. "Wait a minute. There's a lid? Are you saying Jensen is caged while he sleeps?"

"All the actives are," Dinwiddie says without looking up from her work. "It's for their own safety. They like the pods."

Christian makes an annoyed huffing sound. "Yeah, that's why Jensen busted up his knuckles trying to get out, because he likes being trapped in there." Even in his anger, Christian keeps his tone lightly sarcastic. "What Traci means is that the actives are restrained while they sleep so they can't wander around at night when there are fewer staff on hand to control them."

Traci gives Christian a pointed look and then glances up at a small camera mounted on the ceiling.

Christian, jaw muscle bouncing, just shrugs and turns his back on her. Jared wonders why the other man hadn't mentioned the part about Jensen injuring himself earlier and supposes that it might be embarrassment. After all, Jensen was under Christian's watch when he got injured. Still, something doesn't add up. There are many things Jared doesn't know about Christian. Chief among them, why he works here when he seems to have just as big a problem with what Rossum is doing as Jared does.

Once Traci is finished with Jensen, she hands him a lollipop. He lowers his head, looks up through a fringe of long lashes, and gives her one of his shy smiles. Then, clutching the lollipop in one hand, he hops off the table, coming to stand directly in front of Jared as though he has something he wants to say.

Jared is stunned motionless by the stark adoration on Jensen's face.

The four inch difference in their heights means that Jensen's head is tilted up slightly when he leans in, pressing his lips to Jared's in a chaste kiss.

Jared's pulse speeds up and his heart skips a beat. Jensen's lips are soft and moist, his breath warm where it fans Jared's face, and Jared feels as though he's falling down the white rabbit's hole. All too soon, Jensen steps back, expression serene, untroubled. Jared misses the contact immediately.

"What was that for?" he whispers.

"I like you," Jensen replies.

Jared looks around to see Christian and Traci, both watching with eyebrows raised and mouths open. It would be comical if Jared didn't think he was wearing the same expression.

Traci recovers first. "The less Huffman knows about that, the better." She shoos them all toward the clinic door. "Jensen has an engagement tonight, right? You should all go get as much sleep as possible before then. It could be a long night."

Jared doesn't doubt that for a minute.

Christian takes them to a circular room with five unused sleeping pods built into the floor, shaped like the spokes of a bicycle wheel radiating out from a central point. The rectangular holes, each only just large enough to comfortably fit one person at a time, each contain a thin mattress and a pillow. They resemble coffins more than anything else, especially once Jared sees the mechanized lid that seals them shut. He categorically refuses to make Jensen sleep in one of those things.

"No." He shakes his head. "No way, Christian. There has to be somewhere else he can sleep."

Jensen stands passively in between his two handlers, studying his swollen knuckles, avoiding eye contact.

Christian watches him for a moment and then says, "Alaina won't like it, but yeah, I get you. I don't want to make him get back in there either." He rolls his shoulders as he thinks, moves his head from side to side like he's loosening up and getting ready for a boxing match. "Okay, we'll go to the staff rest area. There's a bed in there, a regular one, and a couch, a couple of recliners. It's supposed to be staff only, used mostly by the handlers who don't have time to go home and sleep in between their Active's engagements. No one uses it much except me."

The reasons why Christian, out of all the handlers, is the only one too busy to leave the Dollhouse go unspoken.

"One other good thing about this room," Christian says once he's lead them through a service corridor at the back of the Dollhouse and through a door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only', "is that it's the only room on this level without any video cameras." The click of the door closing behind them seems to punctuate his statement.

The staff area looks much like any other staff area Jared has seen. Along with the bed, couch and recliners, there's also a TV and a couple of tables. The room even has a sink. The only thing missing is a refrigerator, but that's probably because the staff eat their meals in the cafeteria same as the Actives.

They get Jensen settled on the bed first thing and Jared resists the urge to tuck him in like a child. Christian commandeers a recliner, shaking his long, dark hair off his face and closing his eyes without further ado. Of the remaining furniture, only the couch appears long enough to accommodate him. Jared stretches out on the wide, leather cushions with little hope that sleep will come. He's too keyed up, has too many things to think about.

Jensen is restless, tossing from side to side in the single bed as though he can't find a comfortable position. Jared watches him, the memory of that kiss, the feel of those plush lips against his, replaying on a loop in his mind. If only circumstances were different. It's to thoughts of much more than sweet, chaste kisses that Jared finally falls asleep.

The sensation of a warm weight pressed against him from shoulder to ankle wakes him. Blinking open scratchy eyes, Jared looks over and finds Jensen snuggled up against him, head tucked under Jared's chin, one arm flung over Jared's waist. The couch is just barely big enough to accommodate them both. There's no room to spare, even with Jensen lying half on top of him.

Jensen's body feels good pressed into his, well-toned and muscular, and Jared feels his cock respond, thickening in his jeans. He quickly tamps down his arousal because Jensen doesn't mean it in that way. He's asleep and has no idea what effect he's having, probably wouldn't understand even if he was awake.

"Cute," Christian says around a yawn.

Cute isn't exactly the word that comes to Jared's mind. He snorts softly while extricating himself from the beautiful man's loose hold. "What time is it?"

"Time to get going. The cafeteria will be serving dinner now. We can eat and then Jensen will need a personality imprint from Aldis before we take him to his engagement. We'll both go this time so I can show you the ropes. After tonight, we'll switch. One night on and one night off. That way we can each get a break."

"What about Jensen? When does he get a break?"

Christian shakes his head. "Now you're getting the picture."

"Hey big guy, you're looking more well rested than I've seen you in...well...years," Aldis says, as he straps Jensen into the personality imprinting and memory wiping chair.

Jared hates that chair. He also hates Aldis for creating the tech that makes the imprinting and memory wipes possible. But if he's going to save Jensen from this nightmarish place, he's going to need to know more about this process and, for that, he may need Aldis' help. So he keeps his mouth closed and carefully watches everything that the geeky genius does.

I'm not sure what your clients are going to think about you being quite this bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," Aldis continues, unaware of Jared's scheming. "Seems like the more worn-out you are, the more they like it. I guess they think it gives your character an edgier feel."

"I have clients?" Jensen asks, bewildered.

"You bet. You're one popular dude." The tech guy grins, obviously aware he's only confusing Jensen further.

Scowling at Aldis, Christian puts a calming hand on Jensen's arm where it's already buckled to the chair. "Don't worry about it. Aldis just likes the sound of his own voice. He don't mean nothing."

This is the second time someone has made reference to clients who like Jensen in a state of exhaustion. Jared remembers a similar comment from Alaina last night. He needs to find out more about these people before he turns Jensen over to them.

"Right, so I've been meaning to ask...what will we be doing tonight?" And more to the point. "What will Jensen be doing?"

"Jensen won't be doing anything. Dean on the other hand..." Aldis holds up a finger in a give-me-a-second gesture and Jared watches intently as he turns, carefully selects a tape from the rows of shelves, and inserts it into a slot in the chair behind Jensen's head.

The chair hums to life, vibrating softly. The metal plates around Jensen's head glow that same neon blue. Jared braces himself for the convulsions and wild scrabbling, signs that Jensen is suffering.

Christian must notice Jared's tense posture because he murmurs, "The imprints aren't as rough as the wipes."

Sure enough, Jensen's eyelids flutter closed as though he has just fallen asleep, long sweep of lashes descending like a veil.

Aldis checks a monitor, nods in apparent satisfaction and then looks back at Jared. "As I was saying, when our boy leaves here, he'll be primed and ready to face the world as Dean, supernatural hunter extraordinaire." He shrugs self-deprecatingly. "With a few special modifications based on the client's specifications, made possible by yours truly."

One hand up to halt the jumble of meaningless words, Jared asks, "Primed as a supernatural what?" What does that even mean? What is this client paying for him to DO?"

Aldis' mouth opens, but Christian cuts him off with a sharp, "Shut it, geek. You aren't helping."

Aldis does, a hurt look on his face.

"The client is Warner Brothers, the network," Christian supplies. "They have a show, a TV show called Supernatural."

Jared racks his brain for any information regarding a show by that name and comes up blank. "Never heard of it."

"Not many people have." Christian scrunches his nose. It has a small, but enthusiastic, fan base, almost like a cult following."

"Okay, so what does that have to do with Jensen, or the Dollhouse?"

"I'm getting to that part. The show is experimental. There aren't any other shows like it in production. It's in that, that, what do you call it?" Christian snaps his fingers a few times. "That...found footage format, except the cameras are all hidden instead of hand held. The actors wear miniature cameras on their clothing, that kind of thing."

"It's all very advanced stuff, like way cool." Aldis cuts in, head bouncing up and down like an eager puppy watching a treat. "I even worked on some extracurricular projects for them. High powered air compressors and field generators that can be activated remotely. Great for creating atmospheric conditions."

Jared remembers how his ears had popped in the alley.

"Realism is the name of the game. The show's creators want it all to look and feel completely real and in order to get the full experience, they're willing to pay top dollar for Dean, a real, live supernatural hunter. Not a man who pretends to hunt supernatural creatures, not an actor playing a part, but a man who truly believes he hunts supernatural creatures, with all the blood and gore that goes along with it."

"Oh, it's much more complicated than that," Aldis chimes in. "The personality I developed for this character has twenty-six years worth of memories as Dean Winchester, from the time he was four years old and carried his baby brother, Adam, from a burning house, to three months ago, when an angel rescued him from an eternity of burning in hell."

Horror suffuses him like blood rushing to the surface of a bruise. Jared presses the back of his hand to his mouth as he stares at Aldis. "Hell?" he says, feeling sick. "You gave him memories of being in a literal hell? Like with pain and torture and fire? That kind of hell?"

Aldis nods happily, "Heck yeah. It wasn't easy, but the memories of hell I programmed into Dean's personality - the giant, meat hooks gouging holes in his flesh, the hellhounds devouring his intestines - they'd give anyone nightmares. In fact, when Dean sleeps, he gets some whoppers. They film him moaning and flailing in his sleep all the time. When he wakes up though, he pretends he's fine, has it all under control, 'cause he doesn't want to worry his kid brother. Dean is a total badass, he's all like 'Hell? Sure, I was in hell. What of it?' Nobody represses his shit like my Dean." Aldis' eyes are actually shining with a fanatical pride and Jared wants to punch him in his smug, clueless face.

Throat tight and voice sounding as strangled as though it were coming out of a thin, rusty pipe, Jared says, "Jensen has been having bad dreams."

Aldis' eyes widen. "What? No, that can't be." His gaze slips from Jared, to Christian, then to Jensen, where he's still in the chair, receiving the download of Dean's memories. "No, I wipe him after every engagement. Dolls don't have bad dreams. They don't remember." He takes a step back and his voice begins to quaver. "They don't..."

Jared swallows the bile in his throat, swallows a second time, and a third. This is worse than he'd thought, much worse. He's never seen that television show, but he can imagine what it must be like and these people, they've been forcing Jensen to live it as though it was really happening to him. They've been torturing him for years, purposefully giving him memories of a life full of monsters and horror, traumatizing him to the point of experiencing PTSD, and then convincing themselves that it doesn't count because they wipe his memory every day.

"Maybe most dolls don't, but Jensen does." Christian's eyes are like shards of ice, sharp and cold. "He remembered Jared after you wiped him. You saw it yourself."

Aldis shuffles backwards another step, looks at the shelves full of memory tapes as though he's never seen them before.

It hits Jared then that Aldis isn't necessarily a cruel man, he's not evil. It's just that, as smart as he obviously is, he has never thought this all the way through. He's like those scientists in the movie Jurassic Park who discover they can create dinosaurs, he's so caught up in the cool technology and the fact that he can do this that he hasn't stopped to think if he should.

If Jared can make him see how wrong this is, maybe he can talk him into helping put a stop to it. His knowledge of the wiping and imprinting process is essential to any plan that includes getting the Actives their original memories back because Jared has no idea how any of the equipment in this room works. So, step one - keep Aldis talking in the hopes that he'll realize on his own how much harm he's doing, without Jared having to force it down his throat. Cooperation is key.

"How many times has Jensen been imprinted with this Dean personality?" Jared asks.

Aldis scratches his nose. "The show recently started its fourth season, so that means...roughly five hundred times, excluding weekends and hiatus."

"Have any of the other actives been imprinted with the same personality that many times?"

"Not even close. Some of them have repeat engagements, but it's no more than once a month and they rarely continue longer than a year. There's only one exception to that rule. We have what I like to call a full-time Active. She keeps the same personality 24/7, never gets wiped."

"I see where you're going with this, Jared," Christian cuts in. "The sheer number of times Jensen has been imprinted with Dean's personality may be causing a malfunction with the wipes."

"Right," Jared nods. "Kind of like character bleed, to use an acting analogy."

"Is that possible?" Christian addresses Aldis.

"Possible? Yeah, of course it's possible. Anything's possible." Aldis drums his fingers on top of the nearest monitor, eyes going unfocused and distant. "I've never really thought about it before, never had any reason to, you know. But in the absence of his own personality, Jensen's brain may be latching on to the imprint to fill the void. I'll need more-"

The imprinting chair powers down, blue lights fading as the download completes, and Aldis stops talking mid-sentence. Three pairs of eyes turn toward Jensen.

Aldis unbuckles the restraints at Jensen's wrists and ankles.

At Aldis's tap on his shoulder, Jensen takes a deep breath, blinking rapidly. "Am I ready?"

"Yes, you are ready. Go with Jared and Christian. They'll take you." Aldis delivers his lines with his hands behind his back and a slightly widened stance.

Jared wants to protest, but before he can say anything, the door opens. Alaina stands there, hands on her hips, red hair hanging in loose ringlets down past her shoulders, the picture of indignation.

"What are you still doing here? Jensen is supposed to be on set in twenty-five minutes."

No one moves.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Get going!" she shouts.

Jensen cringes and Christian steps forward, interposing himself between them. "We were just on our way. Keep your voice down unless you want damaged property," he snarls under his breath.

Jared puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder and feels the other man press into him. As much as he hates doing this, it looks like he's going to have to go along with it for a little while longer. "Come on, Jensen," he says, steering his charge past an irate Alaina and through the door.

Christian comes up alongside them as they walk down the hallway leading toward the garage, his expression stormy. "I sure hope you have a plan 'cause I'm over this shit."

Before Jared can respond, another handler and his charge, a beautiful woman dressed in a lacy black teddy and fishnet stockings, come through the door, effectively ending their conversation.

It's not a challenge figuring out what type of engagement the woman had been on. Her vacant expression makes the knowledge all the more disconcerting. Jared stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks away. It's all he can do not to grab her and Jensen and make a run for it. Only the knowledge that they wouldn't get very far stops him.


	4. Chapter 4

  
_ Chapter 4 _

By the time they get on the road, it's fully dark outside.  Clif is driving again and, since Jared doesn't want the burly, bald man overhearing their conversation, he can't ask Christian what he'd meant back at the facility, although he hopes it means he has an ally.  He's going to need all the help he can get.

Instead, they talk about the upcoming engagement.

Christian speaks while staring out the passenger side window, his voice uncharacteristically void of emotion.  "We won't have much to do once we drop Jensen off at the designated location.  There's a phrase you'll say to activate the imprint.  As soon as you say it, you'll want to hightail it out of there and let the programming take over.  The show runner, Eric Kripke, tells Aldis what Dean should know for each shoot, what memories he should have, and then it's up to Dean what he does with that information.  He has free will up to a point.  That's what gives the show its edge."

"But if I'm not there, won't Dean be confused?"  Jared frowns.  "The last thing he'll remember is giving me the low down on harpies."

Sighing, Christian shakes his head.  "Naw man, Kripke made Aldis delete that entire encounter from Dean's memory.  It didn't fit into the overall story arc.  From what I can gather, they want Dean to hit rock bottom.  They've got him dealing with what happened in hell and, meanwhile, the only family he has left, his brother Adam, is pulling away from him, so he feels abandoned and betrayed at a time when he most needs some support."  He leans his forehead against the window.  "As much as Dean may crave a friend right now, they aren't going to let him have one."

Jared looks at Jensen, sitting passively beside him on the van's back bench seat, and his stomach lurches unpleasantly.  It's difficult to tell from his bland expression whether the young man has heard any of the conversation.  And Jensen does look young, too young for all this crap to be piled on him.  Too young to have sold himself into slavery almost four years ago.  How bad must things have been, for him to think this was the better option?

They arrive at a back stage lot filled with trailers and specialized equipment.  Large, industrial lights on eight-foot high poles cast pools of light in the otherwise gloomy darkness.  People scurry in every direction.  Someone with a clipboard watches them drive by and starts speaking rapidly into his headset. Someone else, it's hard to tell if it's a man or a woman because of the grey body paint, strides past the van, carrying what looks like an armful of feathers. 

Christian points at the grey person.  "That's one of the actors who plays a harpy,"

As soon as they park, a plump, middle-aged woman in a flowery dress comes hurrying over.  "Jensen honey, thank goodness you're here.  They need you in wardrobe right away."

She takes Jensen's arm and Clif goes with them.  Christian makes an abortive gesture when Jared starts after them.

"Everyone here on set knows Clif as Jensen's bodyguard.  It causes less of a stir among the crew if he's the only one following Jensen around."

Jared doesn't like watching Jensen get herded away from him.  It makes his breath catch in his throat.  To take his mind off the constriction in his chest, he asks, "How many of these people know what Jensen is?"

"Only a few - Kripke, of course, and the principal actors, the ones whose characters interact the most with Dean - Jake Abel, who plays his brother, and Jim Beaver, who plays a fellow hunter and friend of the family, kind of a surrogate father figure."  Shoulders tensed and legs braced apart, Christian scans the lot, as though his mind isn't really on the conversation.  "Oh, and then there's that new guy, Misha Collins.  He plays the part of the angel who rescued Dean from hell.  Those three have the most challenging roles because they have to improvise, play off whatever Dean says and does.  He's unscripted, so they have to go with the flow, be spontaneous, that sort of thing."

Jared notices Christian's hyper-vigilant behavior and feels himself react, hands clenching at his sides.  "What does everyone else think, the rest of the cast and crew?"

"I'm not really sure.  I guess they think he's pretty strange.  Very method, you know, never breaks character."  Christian smirks.  "The writers give the other actors a couple different scripts and they're told to go with whichever one feels right based on what Jensen says and does.  They're told that Jensen is the lead and he knows his character.  No one is allowed to question his choices."

"Are any of the other actors...?"

"What?  Dolls?"  Christian gives an amused snort, glancing at Jared quickly before returning to his study of the lot and everything in it.  "Nah, can you imagine what it would be like, having a bunch of Actives running around doing their own thing?  It'd be chaos.  No, Dean is enough of a wild card."

The wait seems endless, but really, it only lasts about half an hour.  Jared notices Christian's body posture relax right before he sees Clif push through a milling group of people with Jensen in tow.

Gone are Jensen's loose-fitting tee and track pants.  In their place are a pair of well-worn jeans, several layers of shirts, and the scuffed, leather jacket.  Dean's clothes.  But the way he holds himself, the way he walks - small uncertain steps, head tilted down, not making eye contact - that's all Jensen.  Or at least, it's Jensen in his doll state.  Jensen's real personality could be the exact opposite for all Jared knows.

A man comes out of nowhere, barreling through the crowd and slamming into Jensen from behind.  "Sorry, dude, didn't see you there," he says, ready to race off again, when he does a double take.  "Oh hey, Jensen.  You have your big fight scene with the harpies tonight, right?  It's gonna be epic, man!  Can't wait to see you waste'em."  He's got his hands all over Jensen, straightening his rumpled jacket, patting him on the back, pumping his hand, and something both possessive and protective rears up inside Jared.

He closes the intervening distance in three huge steps, muscling his way in between Jensen and his admirer before Clif even has a chance to react.  Without a glance for the other guy, Jared says, "Come on, Jensen.  Time to get going."

Jensen says nothing, hasn't said anything since receiving the download of Dean's personality.  But he slips his hand into Jared's as Jared leads him back to the car.  Clif and Christian are giving Jared strange, assessing looks, but he doesn't care.  He's not ready to analyze his feelings for Jensen or his caveman reaction to another guy manhandling him.

Clif drives them to the entrance of the same alley as yesterday, then Christian whispers the activation phrase in Jared's ear, instructing him to take Jensen back where they'd first met, say the phrase, and get back to the van, pronto.  He tells him not to stay with Jensen, no matter what he hears or sees, no matter what Jensen does.  Then he hands him an ear bud and claps him on the back.

It feels weird being back in that fateful alley with Jensen, like if he clicks his heels together three times he'll find himself back in Kansas with Toto, the past twenty-four hours nothing but a fever dream.  He stands facing Jensen, griping his biceps so he can look him directly in the eye, as per Christian's instructions.  "On a road trip with my brother."  He says the imprint activation phrase in a loud, clear voice.

Jensen's eyes slam closed, face a rictus of pain.  He puts his hands to his head and doubles over, groaning.

"Jensen?  Hey, what's wrong?"  Jared lays a hand on the nape of Jensen's neck, rubbing at the tight coil of muscle there.

"Leave, Jared!  Now!  Get the hell out of there!"  Christian's urgent voice comes through the ear bud.  "If he sees you, it's gonna ruin the shoot.  You don't wanna be responsible for putting him through an extra wipe, do you?"

Jared hesitates just long enough to hear Jensen gasp in a deep breath and see him begin to straighten up before he turns and sprints around the corner of the alley, headed back to the van.  No way does he want Jensen going through another wipe solely because he was too damn slow.

Clif has a cigarette dangling from the tips of his fingers, beefy arm resting on the van's hood, when Jared gets back.  He gives a curt nod, which is probably his idea of a warm greeting.  The end of his cigarette glows orange in the weak light from the near-by sodium streetlight.

Christian is inside the van, sitting on one of the stools, facing the surveillance equipment.  One hand cups the ear bud in his ear, while the other taps a button on the closest monitor.  "Come here," he says, nodding at the other stool.

With each tap, the grainy picture on the monitor changes, flashing through one narrow view of the alley after another.  One scene shows a close up of the quill in the wall.  "Each of these is a different camera angle.  This one is from the camera on Dean's jacket.  It's so small, he doesn't even know it's there," Christian explains.  "There are cameras set up everywhere because they aren't sure where Dean will decide to go, although they have ways...well, you'll see in a minute."

The next scene shows Dean in profile, examining the quill.  He has his flashlight out and looks exactly as Jared remembers finding him last night, intent on his task, alert,  expectant.  He exudes self-confidence.

A thundering boom goes off in Jared's ear.  Startled, he jumps at the same time as Dean pivots to face the direction where the alley degenerates into a warren of intersecting passageways.  That's how he figures out the feed from his ear bud picks up not only Christian, but Dean as well.  He can hear what Dean hears and, now that he's listening for it, he can hear Dean's softly muttered, "Sonofabitch."

"His heart rate is picking up, but it's well within normal range for him.  Nothing to worry about," Christian says, pointing at a different screen.

"You monitor his heart rate?"

"We monitor everything."  Christian gives him an intent look, gaze piercing, as though he wants to make sure Jared is paying attention.  "There's an electrode embedded under the skin behind his ear.  It's a GPS tracking device, as well as a monitoring system.  We receive transmissions on everything from his heart rate, to his nervous system, to the chemical balance in his bloodstream.  The transmissions are sent to Aldis's lab too.  He's better at deciphering them than I am."

Jared nods and puts deactivating the device on his mental list of things that will need his attention before he can rescue Jensen from the Dollhouse.  The list keeps getting longer and longer, but Jared is good at prioritizing and keeping his cool under pressure.  This is just one more thing.  He can't let himself get distracted or overwhelmed.

On screen, Dean pulls a short, serrated knife from a sheath at his ankle.  Angling his body so that the wall is at his back, he crouches to present as small a target as possible and takes off into the labyrinth.

Christian flips through camera angles and stops on a new scene, right as Dean enters an open courtyard lit only by a garland of decorative lights draped over the railing of a balcony.

"They used that noise to make him move in the direction they wanted him to go," Jared says, more a statement than a question.

Christian answers anyway.  "Yeah, he didn't have to go running toward the noise, but it was a good bet he would."

Jared watches as Dean advances warily.  From out of the deep shadows, five shapes disengage from the walls, grey skin giving them the appearance of stone gargoyles, feathered wings held close to their backs, and hands that end in curved talons.  These must be the harpies.

Dean brandishes his knife, lets a condescending smirk play around his lips.  "Five of you against one of me?  Doesn't seem fair really.  Are you sure there aren't a few more of your buddies you can call on for help?  No?" he shrugs.  "Okie dokie then."

Dean's use of that phrase makes Jared frown, his doubts about the effectiveness of the wiping process growing.

All five harpies cock their heads, bird-like.  The one in front of Dean moves forward, pulling his attention, while another moves in from behind.  So it's going to be a coordinated attack then.  Jared wants to call out a warning even though he knows Dean can't hear him.

Turns out, Dean doesn't need his warning.  He feints forward, ducking a slash of claws, while simultaneously sweeping the legs out from under the harpy behind him.  

Two others close in from the sides and the one on the ground leaps up.  Dean turns a circle in place, knife held in a firm grip, outstretched, gaze sharp, daring them to make the next move.  One does, jabbing at Dean's face with a clawed hand.  Dean latches onto its arm, yanks it forward, and buries his knife in its chest.

"Prop knife," Christian murmurs.  "A really fucking realistic prop knife...but still."

Jared watches, mesmerized, as ichor, such a dark purple that it nearly looks black, wells from the wound and the harpy crumples into a pile of feathers on the ground.  It's amazing how real everything looks, how authentic.  The grainy images and the strange camera angles give the scene an eerie, surreal feel.  If he didn't know otherwise, he would totally believe the harpies were supernatural creatures, not stuntmen in elaborate costumes.

The harpy that has yet to engage Dean, the leader perhaps, lets out a guttural, squawking sound.  It flaps its wings and a quill darts from somewhere within the plumage and lodges in the vulnerable flesh at the base of Dean's throat.

Dean doesn't even flinch.  He reaches up, grasps the quill in his fist, pulls it out, and throws it on the ground.  "You think that's going to stop me?  All you've done is piss me off."  His voice is a menacing snarl, promising a world of hurt.

In direct counterpoint to Dean's assertion, an alarm goes off in the van.

"Fuck!"  Christian jumps off his stool.  He begins madly mashing buttons on the monitor that displays Dean's heart rate.  Erratic spikes interspersed with brief periods of flatline spool across the screen.  "Assholes!  They've dosed him with something."

"You mean there was actually something in that quill?"  Jared's attention snaps back to Dean in time to see him stagger.

Instead of answering, Christian flips a switch and begins talking into a com unit.  "Aldis, are you getting this?  Can you tell what it is?"

Static bursts from the com and then Aldis's voice says, "Yeah, I'm getting it.  Goddamn, what's going on over there?"

"Looks like Kripke wanted some extra realism.  Just call me back when you know what drug they used."

Dean scrapes a hand across his eyes, but when a harpy tries taking advantage of his disorientation by wrapping an arm around his neck to cut off his air supply, Dean rears back and slams his skull into its grey face.  More indigo gore splatters in an arc as the creature cups its nose and howls.  As soon as he's free, Dean whirls and lets fly with a right hook that snaps the harpy's head back.  Lifeless, it collapses.

"Jesus," Jared says on a shaky exhale.

"Yeah, when Dean is desperately fighting for his life, he's one scary son of a bitch, and I've seen some scary shit in my time."  Christian's jaw muscle ticks.

Dean staggers again.  The heart monitor wails.

Panic builds in Jared's chest, his own heart beating so hard his ribs ache.  "Shouldn't we get him out of there?"

"Not yet.  Those stuntmen are trained to make it look like they're giving and receiving much more damage than they truly are.  They won't hurt him too badly.  At least they better not."  Christian's scowl hardens.  "Besides, we need information from Aldis on what drug they used, so we know what we're dealing with before we do anything."

The choppy image on the monitor shows Dean shaking his head and blinking, as though there's something wrong with his vision.  He sways and the three remaining harpies converge.  

Making a play for his knife, he dives toward the prone harpy, but another one lands on his back and he falls short of his goal.  He stretches a hand toward the knife, reaching, reaching.  It's no use.  He can't quite get his hand on it.

Jared sucks in a breath.  This is painful to watch.  And yet he can't look away.

Giving up on the knife, Dean gathers himself, locks his legs around the harpy on his back, and flips over, so that he's straddling the creature.  He lands several vicious punches to its midsection while, keening, it tries to gouge his eyes out with its talons.  One final upper cut to its jaw and the harpy goes limp.

Dean is panting harshly, chin resting on his chest, when the last two harpies each seize one of his arms and pull him to his feet.  Arms immobilized, Dean uses the only weapon left at his disposal.  He jumps high and plants the heel of his boot in one harpy's stomach.  It screeches and drops his arm.  Then he clutches twin fistfuls of the other harpy's wing and, with a supreme effort, hurls one monster into the other.  They both crash into a wall and go down amid a squall of feathers.

Relief washes over him and Jared rolls his shoulders to release the tension.  It's over.  Thank God, it's over.

The com unit buzzes and Christian impatiently snaps, "Did you find out what it is?"

"Yeah," Aldis's voice comes over the speaker.  "It's a derivative of belladonna and mandrake, both powerful hallucinogens from the deliriants class.  You better get him back here, Kane, his adrenaline levels are off the chart."

"We're getting him now."  Christian cuts off the com and jumps out of the van.  "Come on," he yells at Jared before turning to Clif.  "Be ready to haul ass as soon as we bring him back here."  He doesn't wait for Clif's nod, he's already in the alley by the time Jared gets his legs untangled from the stool to follow.

They pelt along the narrow passage, Jared's long legs quickly catching up and keeping pace with Christian's shorter ones, although Christian seems to know where the courtyard is located within the maze, so Jared lets him lead.

Coming from the opposite direction, they pass five bedraggled harpies.  Several are limping, several are hunched over, an arm held protectively over their stomachs, and one is cradling his nose.

"Fuck, I think he actually broke my nobe," that one says.  The others mutter disgruntled agreement.

Jared doesn't feel even a little bit sorry for them.

The courtyard opens up ahead in the gloom.  Dean stands off to the side, eyes wide and darting, hands held in front of himself as though warding off an army.  His lips are moving, but Jared can't hear what he's saying.

Another man, scrawny and balding, enters the courtyard from a different offshoot.  He has a huge grin on his face.  "That was fantastic!" he crows.  "The fans are gonna eat it up and scream for more!"

"Go help Dean, but don't use the remote wipe phrase yet," Christian says.  "I'll take care of Kripke."  From the tone of his voice, Jared really wouldn't want to be Kripke right now.

He jogs over to Dean who looks as though a light breeze could topple him, as though he's only upright through sheer pigheadedness and stubborn determination.  "Hey, hey Dean, it's okay, it's over, you got'em," he says, trying for a calm he doesn't feel.

A thin trickle of blood traces a sluggish path from the puncture wound in Dean's throat down under the collars of his multiple shirts.  His gaze flickers randomly, left, right, back and forth, constantly tracking invisible targets.  He never so much as glances at Jared.

Christian's voice carries across the intervening space, angrier that Jared has yet heard him, which is really saying something.  "You fucking irresponsible...do you have any idea, any idea at all, what you've done?  Your contract with the Dollhouse specifically prohibits using drugs on the Actives for a reason!"

Kripke laughs, apparently unaware of the unstable ground he's standing on.  "I know what the contract says, Mr. Kane, but this was a special case.  We had to do it, the script called for it, and did you see it?  It was spectacular!  You want us to pay for damages to your active?  We'll pay, no problem.  That - the intensity of that scene, the depth - that's worth an extra fee."

Disgusted, Jared stops listening, instead focusing his attention on Dean and the disjointed muttering which is steadily getting louder.

"No, I got out.  I'm not here any more, I got out."  Dean sounds far from certain, his voice cutting in and out, vacillating as though he's trying desperately to convince himself and having little success.  "This isn't real, it can't be.  It can't."

Jared can only imagine what horrors Dean sees.  It's soul wrenching.

Having dealt with his share of junkies during his time on the force, Jared knows touching Dean when he's this far gone is likely to do more harm than good.  Although Jensen trusts him - is programmed to trust him, anyway - Dean's memory of Jared has been wiped.  He has no reason to trust anything Jared says.  Still, he has to try.

Slowly, he extends one hand.  "Dean, you're safe.  Everything's all right.  Calm down and let me help you, okay?"

At the sensation of a hand on his shoulder, Dean jerks backwards, arms swinging defensively, uncoordinated arcs knocking Jared's hand away.  He continues backing up until a wall stops his progress.  A strangled moan makes it past barred teeth in response to being trapped.  He bows his head; Jared dares to hope it means either Dean has given up the fight, or the drugs have disabled him to the point where he'll be more manageable, more easily constrained.

No such luck.

With a defiant shout of, "NO!" Dean slams his own head into the concrete wall.

Jared winces at the sickening crack, but Dean's not done.

"No!" he repeats, again leaning forward for maximum destructive effect before bashing his head backwards.

On Dean's third attempt at caving in his own skull, Jared finally reacts.  He wraps his arms around Dean's shoulders, cushioning his battered head against his chest.

Dean screams.  He screams as though someone has buried a rusty pickaxe in his stomach, reached in through the dripping viscera and guts, grabbed his spine, and is pulling it through the gaping hole, vertebra by vertebra.  He screams as though a hundred demons surround him, all cackling and grinning, pointy teeth gleaming, as they wait their turn.

Dean's terror is so palpable Jared can almost see them too.  His blood turns to ice in his veins.

Dean struggles and bucks wildly.

Police training kicks in, years spent on the beat serve him well, as Jared utilizes his long arms to tug Dean's jacket over his head, twisting it in front of him in a way that effectively entraps his flailing arms.  Then Jared simply hangs on and waits Dean out.

Dean thrashes and kicks and twists within his grasp.  His chest heaves, pulse jackrabbiting under Jared's palm, where it presses against the young man's neck to prevent more head bashing.  Eventually, Dean's strength wanes and the fight leaches out of him.  His screams degenerate into hoarse wheezing.

"There you go.  Relax.  That's it.  You're doing good," Jared murmurs.  "Just relax and breathe."  

A darker shadow looms over them out of the darkness and Jared looks up to find Christian standing near-by.  It's only when he has to tilt way back to see Christian's face that he realizes he's on the ground, Dean practically cradled in his lap.  At some point in their struggles, they must have slid down the wall.

"Everything under control?" Christian asks, brow furrowed in worry.

Jared huffs a sardonic snort through his nose.  "As much as this fucked up situation can be under control, yeah."

Christian's mouth hardens, forming a thin line.  "We need to get him back to the facility.  Now.  Aldis will have to assess the damage.  Traci may be able to help."

Jared nods, looking down at Dean.  Eyes bloodshot and staring at unimaginable horrors that only he can see, body wracked by involuntary tremors as the excess adrenaline leaves his bloodstream, he's in no shape to walk out of there, even supported by both himself and Christian.  It's time to put all those long hours of weight lifting and working out at the gym to the test.  Using the wall as a brace, Jared maneuvers until he has good leverage and Dean is well supported, then he pushes up.

"You need help?" Christian asks, one hand already on Jared's elbow.

Dean is a grown man and he's heavy, especially since he's mostly dead weight, but Jared manages to shuffle him a little higher against his chest, grunting with the effort.  "No, I got'im."

The courtyard is empty, Kripke having left them to clean up his mess, which is just as well.  It's the kind of neighborhood where no one comes running when someone screams bloody murder and that thought only fuels the anger simmering in Jared's belly.

Clif is in the driver's seat, motor running.  His hands, clenched white-knuckle tense around the steering wheel, put the lie to his unaffected profile.  The van's sliding door is open.  Dean appears catatonic as Jared maneuvers him inside, but once Jared lets go, he snaps out of his malaise, thrashing and spitting curses at the demons that are tying him down.

Christian quickly gives up on buckling Dean's seatbelt.  "Fuck!  We don't have time for this," he growls, throwing a glare at Jared.  "Just hold on to him and let's get out of here."

Jared doesn't argue.  He gets in, pulls Dean, squirming, into a bear hug, and settles in for the ride.  The jacket still twisted around Dean's arms helps keep him somewhat contained and it doesn't hurt that his previous efforts at freeing himself have left him mostly spent.

About halfway back to the Dollhouse, Dean's hallucinations undergo a shift.  He stops yelling insults and taunts and begins arguing, not with the demons, but with someone named Adam.  "Adam, come on man, why are you doing this, huh?  You know she's a demon.  I'm your brother.  This should be a no-brainer, dude."

This last is said in a whisper and Jared remembers Christian mentioning a brother who was pulling away.  Now he wonders just how bad Dean's relationship with his brother has gotten.  Picking a demon over your brother sounds pretty damn bad.

"Please Adam, take me with you at least.  Don't leave me here."  A bead of sweat rolls down Dean's forehead and into his eye.  He blinks and makes a frustrated noise, bringing both arms up and swiping the jacket across his face.

Jared gives in to his impulse and cards his fingers through Dean's sweat-damp hair.  "Shhh, it's okay.  This will all be over soon."

Dean stills.  His breath hitches.  "Jared, don't leave me here, okay?  Don't leave me here."

Christian swivels around in his seat so fast it's a miracle he doesn't give himself whiplash.  "Did you say the remote wipe phrase?  Did you?"

Jared is too shaken to answer right away.  He places a hand against Dean's cheek and Dean leans into the touch.  "I...no.  I didn't say it," he manages.

Christian studies him for a moment, eyebrows knotted, then faces forward and punches the dashboard.  Clif's eyes briefly meet Jared's in the rearview mirror.  The engine revs and the van picks up even more speed.

After that, Dean is mostly quiet, although his eyes continue to dart restlessly and his breathing is erratic.  Jared keeps telling him that everything is going to be all right.

Traci and Aldis meet them at the entrance to the Dollhouse.  Alaina Huffman is conspicuous in her absence.

"He hasn't been wiped yet, has he?" Aldis asks as they rush through the doors, Dean held close against Jared's chest.

"No," both Jared and Christian answer.

"Good, that's good.  I don't know if there's anything I could do to fix that kind of trauma.  Dean is better equipped to handle hallucinations than a doll would be."

"Take him to the clinic," Traci interjects.  "I can check him over, maybe give him something for anxiety to keep him calm until the hallucinogen wears off.  I don't want to give him anything so strong that it knocks him out because his system is already on drug overload as it is and anything else will make his symptoms more difficult to monitor."

Jared thinks about the clinic, about the sterile, cold, blindingly white surfaces, about Jensen sitting on the metal examination table, bare feet dangling over the edge, lollipop in his hand.  "No, I'm taking him to the staff lounge," he announces.  "It's quieter there, no one will disturb him.  There's a bed where he'll be comfortable.  You can treat him there just as easily as in your clinic."

Traci hesitates.  "I won't be able to watch him there.  I have other patients I'm keeping in the clinic overnight for observation.  Beth broke her ankle on an engagement, some kind of high-wire stunt as an art thief gone wrong, and Chad's last engagement as a search and rescue expert resulted in pneumonia.  I'll need to spend most of my time in the clinic, monitoring them."

"That's okay, Jared says.  "I'll watch him."

  



	5. Chapter 5

__  
  
Chapter 5

Dean tosses his head against the pillow, biting his lower lip, eyes rolling wildly in their sockets as he moans.  "You've gotta leave us, Dad.  S'not safe for you here," he mutters brokenly.  "The demons, they know we're your weak spot.  They're only gonna use us against you."

Christian uncrosses his arms, aggressively runs one hand through his hair.  "That's from season one when Dean's dad was still alive.  Goddamn, but he idolized that man.  Nearly pushed him over the edge when he died."

Jared doesn't respond.  What's he supposed to say to that?  Apparently, Dean is reliving all his worst moments, one by one, and there's nothing he can do about it.  He sits on the edge of the bed and unravels Dean's arms from the twisted jacket.  He picks up one battered hand and cradles it in both of his own, swiping a thumb soothingly over the pulse point at Dean's inner wrist.  The knuckles are still swollen and bloody, possibly even more so after the street fight with the harpies.

"Some of the things I've done to save this family," Dean whispers.  "They scare me."  A single tear runs down his cheek.  He blinks and turns his face away.

"Jesus Christ!" Christian curses, rounding on Aldis.  "Can't you do anything to stop this?"

Aldis wipes his hands down the thighs of his jeans.  "N-no, I mean, not until he stops hallucinating."  He bites at his thumbnail and Jared can see his hand shaking.  "He really is suffering, isn't he?  I didn't think..."

The knot between Jared's shoulders tightens.  He wants to explode, he wants to laugh at the inane stupidity of that comment.  He doesn't though.  He forces calm into his voice.  "Yeah Aldis, he's _suffering_.  And you didn't see the worst of it.  This is _nothing_ compared to the sheer terror, the full-on, fucking panic attack he had in the alley when he thought he was still in hell.  Maybe you'd like to see the video footage.  I'm sure Kripke would be only too pleased to show you."

Aldis shakes his head, brown eyes wide.

This may be the chance Jared has been waiting for.

"You're responsible for this, for him," Jared nods his head at Dean, pressing his point.  "You're responsible for all of them, the dolls, the people being kept in this place.  It's your technology, you put them here, gave people like Huffman control over their lives."

Aldis's jaw firms.  He shakes his head again, this time in blind denial.  "No.  Okay yes, I created the technology, but I don't decide how to use it.  It's not my decision."

Sensing that he may have gone too far, too fast, Jared backs off.  "Okay, I'll give you that.  You don't make the decisions.  Huffman gives the orders.  She probably has superiors who tell her what to do and it probably doesn't stop there.  Who knows where the orders originate, how far up the chain of command this goes."

"That's right."  Aldis nods, some of the defiance leaving his tone.  One hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck.  "Look, I like working here.  As long as I deliver the tech and give her Actives the personalities Huffman wants, she gives me free reign, access to all the equipment I could ever dream of, carte blanche to work on whatever other projects I want."

"But is it worth it?" Jared asks.  "Is it worth the cost in human casualties?  Would you want Huffman doing to you what she does to Jensen, to all the other people under her control?"

"Well no, but..."

Jared switches tactics.  "Do you have any family?"

"Yeah, my parents," Aldis answers, suspicion coloring his words as though he knows where this is going and doesn't like it.  "And a sister."

"What if your sister was in here?  What then?  Would it still be alright?"

Christian makes a choked-off sound as though he's got something lodged in his throat, followed by a coughing fit.

The door opens and in the ensuing confusion of Traci coming in, loaded down with medical supplies for Dean, and Christian hacking away in the corner, Aldis escapes the room and any further discussion of his responsibility for the plight of the Actives.  All Jared can do is hope the conversation will resonate with him, that the tech genius will do the right thing when the time comes.

Coughing jag over, Christian flops down into the recliner, staring up at the ceiling.  Jared wonders how long it's been since he's spent the night in his own bed.  He looks wrung out, dark smudges under his eyes that Jared would swear hadn't been there earlier, permanent frown lines etched into his forehead.

"Dude, why don't you get out of here?  Go home?  Take a shower or something?  I got this."

"Yeah?"  Christian gives Jared a long look, as though calculating his abilities and measuring them against what could still go terribly wrong.  His gaze slides to Dean and then to Traci.  Eventually, he nods.  "Yeah, I guess you do."  He heaves himself out of the chair.  "I've got a few things to take care of, personal stuff.  I'll be back as soon as I can."

Christian turns when he reaches the door, levels Jared with an intense stare.  "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Jared confirms.  "Go on."

Christian nods again and leaves, closing the door on his way out.

Traci carefully deposits her supplies on a table near the bed.  "Has there been any change in his behavior?" she asks, shooing Jared away so she can examine Dean's swollen knuckles.

"He's calmed down some," Jared answers, not moving very far.  "Quite a bit actually, from the time we first got to him.  He hasn't said anything too terribly coherent though.  Lots of stuff like he's talking to his dad or his brother, some stuff about monsters he's hunted."

Dean groans and shifts fretfully.  Traci nearly loses her grasp on his hands when he tries to roll onto his side.

Moving around to the foot of the bed, Jared starts removing Dean's scuffed work boots.  The ankle sheath, now empty of any knife, comes off next, and then Dean's socks.  Jared rests his hand on Dean's ankle, soothing the skin reddened by abrasive contact with the thick leather sheath, as he waits for Traci to smear more antibiotic on Dean's knuckles.  

A long, drawn-out sigh passes Dean's parted lips and he stills.  Maybe it's just Jared's imagination or maybe it's wishful thinking, but it seems as if, now that the hell hallucinations have passed, Dean stays more calm when he can feel Jared's presence.  

"How long will the hallucinogen be in his system?"

"According to the toxicology and blood chemistry reports Aldis sent me, it'll be a while yet.  I'm estimating three hours, could be more or less.  It depends on his metabolic rate."  Traci finishes up with Dean's knuckles and goes to the sink where she fills a glass with water.  "We'll need to keep him hydrated.  I could give him I.V. fluids, but if we can get him to drink some water, the I.V. may not be necessary.  I have a feeling he isn't the type to lie quietly for the amount of time it would take to complete a saline solution drip."  

"No, probably not," Jared agrees.

"Okay then, see if you can get him sitting up."

With an arm under Dean's back, Jared levers him up and scoots in behind him, supporting Dean's upper body against his chest.  Dean's head lolls forward, the pull of gravity apparently more than he can bear.  Sweat-damp hair sticks out in unruly tufts.

Tracy pinches his jaw, tips his head back, and pours some water into his open mouth.  

Dean gags.  Water dribbles down his chin and wets his outer shirt.  He begins to squirm.  "Look out, dad!  Don't let it drag you into the water!" he splutters.

"Easy, easy," Jared soothes.  "Take it easy, Dean.  We're not trying to hurt you."

He glares at Traci.  Crummy bedside manner aside, she should have known better than that.  "Give it to me."

She hands him the glass, lips pursed.

The scruff on Dean's jaw makes a light rasping sound, as Jared cups his chin and angles his head back so it rests on his shoulder, whispering words of encouragement and reassurance into his ear.  "I need you to drink some water.  Can you do that for me?  I'll hold the glass for you.  All you need to do is swallow, okay?"  He presses the glass to Dean's lips and tips it just enough to wet them, no more.  Dean's tongue darts out to lick at the rim.  "That's it," Jared praises, tilting the glass a little more.

A thin stream of water trickles into his mouth.  "Come on, swallow," he murmurs,  pulling the glass away and waiting.  Dean chokes a little and then his Adam's apple bobs as he throat works.  "Good.  You're doing good, Dean."  With some patience, Jared gets Dean to slowly drink the entire glass.  Once he's done, Jared used his thumb to swipe the remaining moisture from Dean's lips and chin.

"Not bad," Tracy admits, as she readies a syringe and thick rubber band.  "Help me get his shirts off, will ya?  I'm going to need some bare skin for this injection."

Undressing Dean in his current state is like undressing a toddler, he doesn't make any move to help, but neither does he act like he's too bothered by the procedure.  Jared slips the button down flannel off first one arm and then the other, while Dean mutters something about succubi.  Not exactly flattering, but Jared ignores it, pulling the long sleeve henley and tee over Dean's head, before lowering him back onto the mattress.  "There you go," he says.  "You'll be more comfortable now and the doctor can give you something to make you feel better."

Dean winces as his head sinks into the pillow and Traci looks up from preparing the correct dosage of whatever is in the small, glass vial she's holding.  "Something wrong with his head?"

Gingerly, Jared rubs a hand over the back of Dean's head, grimacing himself when he feels the huge goose egg.  "Shit, yeah...can't believe I forgot.  He bashed his head pretty good against a concrete wall."  Jared shakes his head at the memory.  "Got two hard whacks in before I could stop him.  Right after the hallucinations started."

"Self-injurious behavior?"  She hums in thought.  "Not exactly hard to believe, I suppose.  Not with Dean's past."

Jared's chest constricts with the implication that Dean would want to hurt himself on purpose.  "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's not what I would call the most emotionally stable individual.  Faced with the kaleidoscopic version of his life and the time he spent in hell courtesy of a powerful narcotic?  Who would blame him for wanting to distance himself from that in any way possible?"

"By giving himself a concussion?"  

She shrugs.  "You haven't been around long enough to see, but Dean spends a fair amount of time trying to forget, trying to lose himself in a bottle of whatever's handy.  With no alcohol in sight?  And in the grips of a potent hallucinogen?  I wouldn't totally dismiss the idea."  She wraps the band around Dean's bicep and swabs the inner crease of his elbow.  "Luckily for him, he'll be wiped soon and it'll be as if none of this ever happened."

Yeah, Jared thinks, except for the part where Jensen is having nightmares and Dean remembers things he shouldn't - _me_ \- in between imprints.  Jensen is beginning to unravel, his edges fraying, the line between personalities blurring.  It's only a matter of time before he cracks.  And this hallucinogen can't be helping his already vulnerable mental state.

Traci taps the syringe, checks the dosage one more time.  Holding Dean's arm with one hand, she deftly inserts the needle into a vein.

Dean comes off the bed swinging.  It's like he's back in the courtyard all over again, like he's in a fight for his life, acting purely on instinct, attention focused on what he perceives as a threat.  His backhanded block sends the syringe flying out of Traci's hand.  It skitters and bounces across the tile floor.  Then, he has a hand around her throat, squeezing.

"I know what you are," he says, voice a menacing growl.  "Christo."

Eyes wide and bulging behind her designer frames, face red, Traci wheezes frantically.

Jared doesn't have time to think.  He vaults over the bed and grabs Dean's arm.  "Let go, Dean," he says, using his authoritative, cop tone.  "Let go, _now_."

Dean's glare falters, as it ping-pongs back and forth between them, and then around the room, while he desperately tries to slot the pieces into place and figure out where he is and what's happening, to separate reality from drug-induced phantoms.

Jared stays completely still, trying to exude confidence, provide Dean with an anchor in what must seem like a swirling maelstrom.  He hopes that, on some level, Dean will recognize him.  Or, if recognize is too strong a word, that some of the handler/active bond will kick in at least.  A programmed type of trust is better than no trust at all.  He hopes he doesn't have to resort to physically restraining Dean again because, now that he's had a chance to rest and is looking more alert, Jared can't guarantee he'll be successful this time around.  Lowering his voice to a soothing whisper, he says, "It's okay, she's just trying to help you.  You can let go."

As his gaze lands on Jared and sticks there, like a ball bearing pulled toward a magnet, Dean's hand falls away from Traci's neck.  She immediately scrambles to the other side of the room, her breath rattling noisily in and out of oxygen-deprived lungs.

Ignoring her, he brings both hands to Jared's face, palms against his cheeks, fingers molded to the back of his head.  There's an intensity in the way Dean looks at him, as if Jared is of profound importance.  "Jared?" he breathes, disbelief coloring his tone.  "What are you doing here?  Are you okay?  The harpies didn't getcha, did they?"  He begins patting Jared down, checking for any visible injuries.

Jared feels more cared for than he has since he was four years old and nosedived off the swing set in his back yard, hitting his forehead on a rock and knocking himself unconscious.  He'd awoken in his mother's arms as she rushed him into the house, crooning words of comfort into his ear to keep him calm.  It's one of his earliest memories, that feeling of being the focus of someone's all-consuming concern.

"I'm alright, Dean."  Jared assures him.  "The harpies didn't get me, they got you, remember?"  He lightly touches the dried blood at the base of Dean's throat, where the quill had left its mark.  "You've been hallucinating.  Traci was just gonna give you something to help you relax."

Brows furrowed in thought, Dean fists Jared's shirt at the collar as though afraid Jared might disappear if he lets go.  "I remember, but...it's all jumbled up like some wacky dream.  Sometimes you're there and sometimes you're not."  Dean's piercing, green eyes seem to bore right through him.  "And those times when you're not there, I don't realize you're missing except that I feel...I don't know...I feel...like I'm not me."  He shakes his head.  A snort of unamused laughter follows his ramble.  "Great, I sound like I'm looney tunes."

This is actually the most coherent Dean has sounded all night and Jared can't help but smile a little at the irony.  "You're not looney tunes, but the effect of the hallucinogen in the, um, in the harpy quill, hasn't worn off yet, so you're bound to feel a bit out of it still."  Taking Dean's elbow, he begins leading him toward the bed.  "Why don't you lie down and let Traci give you that shot."  He nods at Traci, letting her know that everything is under control.

Dean lets Jared guide him to the bed where he sits, but that's as far as he'll go.  He resists Jared's attempt to ease him into a prone position, instead resting his elbows on his knees as he pulls the rubber band off his bicep and scratches idly at the place on his inner arm where the needle pricked his skin.  When Traci retrieves the hypodermic from the floor and warily approaches him, he shoots her a shit-eating grin and says, "Sorry 'bout that, darlin'.  I thought you were...well, let's just say I thought you were someone else."  He tilts his head at the syringe.  "I won't be needing that, though."

Jared studies him.  His skin is flushed, there's a light sheen of sweat on his face, and he has switched from scratching his arm to clasping his hands together so tightly that the cuts and abrasions on his knuckles have started bleeding again.  But his eyes have lost their feverish glassiness and his strong chin has a determined thrust.

"Are you still hallucinating?" he asks.  "How many people are in the room right now?"

Dean takes the question seriously, which is a testament, Jared thinks, to just how bad things were before.  "Three people, you, me, and her.  The edges of my vision are still a little blurry, but I think I'm done with the hallucinations," he answers truthfully.

And that's good enough for Jared.  "Okay, no more drugs.  You seem like you've gotten past the worst of it," he says, rubbing a hand over Dean's bare back, a gesture of comfort he hopes Dean doesn't find too weird.

Dean gives him an appreciative smile, as though he's not used to anyone agreeing with him or taking his side.

Traci opens her mouth like she wants to argue but, at a firm look from Jared, she closes it and begins gathering up her supplies.  As Dean's handler in this crazy organization, Jared out ranks her when it comes to Dean's care.  Jared knows it and she knows it.  "Fine, your call.  I'll be in my clinic if you change your mind," she says, sashaying out the door as though she's on a runway.

A silence falls over the room.  Dean scrubs both hands over his face, then through his short, dark-blond hair, wincing when his fingers find the lump.  

Now that it's just the two of them and Dean is more aware of what's going on, Jared isn't sure what to say, or how to act with him.  _Jensen_ seems to like and even expect physical closeness, but Dean isn't Jensen.  Well, he is, but he doesn't remember being Jensen.  Suddenly self-conscious, Jared removes his hand from Dean's back.

Dean looks up at the loss of contact, clears his throat, and says, "So uh, you're the one who brought me here, huh?  Got me outta that alley?  I don't remember much about that part, just bits and snatches, you know.  I must've been a mess.  Sorry you had to see me like that."  His eyes slide away, as though he's feeling just as self-conscious as Jared.

The guilt and shame Jared sees in the unhappy twist of Dean's mouth and the way his knuckles bleed white from clenching them so tightly together, tugs on Jared's heart and pulls him back in.  He takes Dean's hands, disentangling his fingers, gently rubbing the ache out of swollen knuckles.  Dean may try to act like the touchy-feely stuff is beneath him, like he's too tough and hardened to need physical comfort, but Jared has seen enough cracks in that armor to believe otherwise.  Underneath that hard shell, Dean needs to feel valued and cared for just as much as anyone else does, probably more because he's denied himself those emotions for so long.

So he's not surprised when Dean allows the contact and even leans forward slightly.  Waiting until Dean looks back up at him, he says, "You have nothing to be sorry for.  None of this is your fault."

It's such an obvious understatement that Jared almost feels ridiculous saying it.  Of all the people who are to blame for this mess - Aldis, Huffman, Kripke, and whoever is calling the shots at the Rossum Corporation, to name just a few - Dean is the least responsible.  Yes, it's obvious to Jared, but it's not obvious to Dean and he needs to hear it.

Dean's lips quirk up and tiny dimples appear at the corners.  When he looks away, it's more about curiosity than embarrassment.  "What is this place anyway?  It's not a hospital, or if it is, it's the strangest hospital I've ever been in, and I've been in my fair share." he says.

This isn't a conversation Jared wants to have, not with Dean.  It's a conversation he'll need to have with Jensen after he's gotten his memory back, but Dean shouldn't know, can't know.  There's no telling how he'd react.  He's going to be wiped in a few hours anyway, so what would be the point in freaking him out?  

There's a tiny voice inside him that whispers, _Dean would be a good ally to have though.  Good in a fight.  Good at strategy and coming up with a plan to free everyone._

Jared ignores the voice.

"It's a, um, a spa.  You know, one of those resort places where people go to be pampered.  Massages, gourmet food, saunas, that kind of thing."  He bites down on his lower lip to shut himself up.  Babbling on and on about spa treatments isn't going to help him sell this lie.

Raising one eyebrow, Dean says, "A spa?  You brought me to a spa?"

Jared can see his point.  Who brings a guy, tripping out of his mind on hallucinogens, to a spa?

He shrugs, going for nonchalant.  "I have a friend who works here.  It was close by and they have a clinic.  I thought it would be best under the circumstances, just in case you wanted to stay under the radar, avoid any questions that would come up in a hospital." 

Dean nods and stands.  "That was good thinking."  They're so close that Jared can see every freckle scattered across the bridge of his nose, can see the moment Dean's eyes go from curious to heated.  Dean pulls his hands out of Jared's loose grasp to grab his shoulders.  "There's something about you, Jared.  You make me feel like I don't have to be on the top of my game all the freaking time, like I can just...be myself," he murmurs.  

They stand there, staring at each other for long moments, Jared's breath trapped in his lungs.  The air between them seems charged with an electric current.  Dean licks his lips, then he takes a deliberate step forward, tilts his face up, and brings their lips together, hard, using his grip on Jared's shoulders to pull him closer.  

It's nothing like Jensen's tentative kiss.  It's demanding and brutal, an aggressive clash of lips, and tongue, and teeth.  Hungrily, Dean licks into his mouth.  It's so seductive, so steaming hot, that Jared feels like his lips have been seared, melded to Dean's, until it's impossible to pull away.

So, he kisses back, tries to give as good as he gets.  Any thoughts he may have about this being wrong are quickly burned away by the insistence of Dean's body pressed against his.  He can feel the hard line of Dean's arousal through their jeans.  His own cock gives an enthusiastic twitch.

Releasing Jared's lips while keeping a tight hold on his shoulders, Dean sucks in a deep, satisfied breath.  "I've been wanting to do that since I saw you in the alley.  Do you even know how _goddamn_ sexy you are?"  

His voice is low, gravelly, and the vibration of it, Dean's damp, warm breath against Jared's ear, sends sparks of desire straight to his groin.  Involuntarily, Jared grinds his growing erection into Dean's thigh.  

"Oh, hell yeah," Dean groans, crowding into Jared's space, pushing him backwards, step by step, until they hit the wall and there's nowhere else to go.

Hemmed in on all sides by Dean, Jared has never been so turned on in his life.  A shudder works its way through his body; he has to wrap his arms around Dean's neck, palms against Dean's muscular, bare back, to keep his knees from buckling.  The muscles under his palms ripple like the flank of a sleek, powerful race horse.  

Jared is fully erect now, his cock thick and heavy in his jeans, throbbing almost painfully in time with the beating of his heart.  No one has ever been able to do this to him before, to dominate him so completely.  He's been with other men, sure, but Dean is like a force of nature, virile, wild, and unpredictable.

Breath coming in harsh bursts, Dean reaches for the button on Jared's jeans.  "Jared, I wanna see you.  Can I?  Will anyone be coming in here?" 

Although it's difficult to think straight with Dean's hand on his crotch, Jared forces himself to give the question a moment's consideration.  Christian will be coming back as soon as he's finished with his errands and Aldis could come in at any time, declaring Dean ready for his treatment.  "Maybe," he pants.  "It's a staff lounge so, uh, yeah, someone might come in.  Do you care?"

_ Jesus _ , he hopes Dean doesn't care.

Dean makes a growling noise deep in his throat, shakes his head.  "I don't care if you don't.  We can make this fast."

Jared almost groans in relief.

Dean flicks his wrist and the button pops open immediately.  The zipper follows suit and the next thing Jared knows, his jeans and boxer briefs have been pushed off his hips to pool at his feet.  His erection springs free, slapping his flat stomach, flesh overheated and so sensitive that even the brush of room-temperature air makes him feel like he's going to come out of his skin.

"Oh God," Jared moans.

"No, it's just me," Dean smirks.  "Although, I am pretty awesome."

Jared would roll his eyes, but then Dean is cupping his balls in one hand, rolling them and squeezing just hard enough to cause starbursts of pleasure to shoot up his spine, while he strips Jared's cock with his other.  Jared's hips jerk forward, tension building, cock straining.  His nerve endings zing with little bolts of electricity.

Need overwhelms him and he lowers his head to capture Dean's plush lips again.  He licks at the corner of his mouth, tasting the tiny dimple there.

Dean grunts and, suddenly, his hands are gone.  Jared bites back a curse, but when he looks down, he sees that Dean has put his hands to good use and is already stepping out of his jeans.  The man stands before him, completely naked.  Jared is stunned once more by how gorgeous he is; toned chest, six-pack abs, lean hips.  He exudes a raw, animal grace.

Smoothing his hands down Dean's back, Jared palms his tight ass, kneading the warm flesh.  Dean's back arches on a gasp and the movement brings their cocks together, silky skin sliding against silky skin.  The heat that sparks at the contact feels like being branded.

"Oh Jesus, Dean, please..." Jared begs.  "Touch me."

Dean licks his lips.  His eyelids are hooded, his eyes blown and dark with desire.  Getting a hand in between them, he wraps it around both their cocks.  The callouses on his long fingers add to the friction as he forms a tight circle and pumps up and down, twisting at just the right spot on the upstroke.

"Jared, Jared, Jared," Dean chants as he leans in, laying open-mouthed kisses on Jared's neck.  His other hand comes up to lay flat against Jared's chest, his thumb fondling Jared's nipple through his shirt.

Jared thrusts into Dean's hand, pleasure mounting with every flick of Dean's thumb, every twist of his hand on their cocks.  Something about the way Dean says his name, like it's the only thing in the world that holds any meaning for him, pushes Jared even closer to the edge.  He can feel his orgasm building, cresting.  His eyes slam shut, his balls contract, his cock jerks, and then his release spills, hot and sticky, between them.

Dean follows soon after.  Another couple strokes and his body stiffens in Jared's arms.  Warm come spurts onto his belly while Dean trembles through the aftershocks.  Shuddering, he sags, boneless, and Jared tightens his grip around the other man's waist, holding him close.  The wall at his back is probably the only reason they manage to stay on their feet.  Jared has a strong suspicion his legs wouldn't support the two of them otherwise.

Dean lifts his head for another kiss, softer this time, more intimate.  He sighs.  "That was fucking amazing."

"It was.  You are," Jared breathes, cupping Dean's face and nibbling at his jawline.  Scratchy stubble makes his lips tingle.

There's a snort from Dean.  "I shoulda known you were one of them."

"One of who?"

"A sap," Dean says as he pulls away.  The fond smile he shoots Jared's way takes any  possible sting out of the words though.  "Be right back.  Don't move," he instructs with a playful jab at Jared's chest to emphasize his point.  He pads naked over to the sink, no modesty whatsoever, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, gets some paper towels and wets them before using them to clean up first Jared, then himself.

Once the towels have been wadded up and thrown away, Jared is quick to pull his pants up, but Dean just stands there and watches, blatantly appreciative.  Jared's raised eyebrow is met with a roguish wink.

"You're something else, you know that?" Jared says.

"I've been told."  Dean grins, as he finally shucks his boxers and jeans back on over slightly bowed legs and slim hips, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that Jared finds adorable.

He really is an incredibly good-looking guy.  Kripke's television show has a loyal fan base for a very good reason.  The principal character is everything a casting director could ask for in a leading man; charming, highly-skilled, gorgeous, and troubled to the point where anyone with half a heart would want to give him a hug and feed him pie just to make him feel better.

That thought is followed quickly by another one and Jared goes from blissed out to horrified in a matter of seconds because Dean isn't just a character in a TV show, he's not just an actor.  Dean isn't even really _Dean_.  Dean is a personality, an imprint that has been programmed into the mind of an unwitting pawn, possibly against his will.  In the midst of having one of the best orgasms of his life, Jared had forgotten that one, simple, little fact.  His blood turns to ice in his veins.  Dean may have been totally on board with what just happened between them, but what about Jensen?  How does he know that Jensen was okay with it?  Jensen didn't have a choice in the matter.

The horror must show on his face because Dean's grin falters and dissolves.  The brash mask he wears slips; the insecurity he tries so hard to hide comes bubbling up to the surface.

"Hey man, I'm sorry if that was out of line.  I can be kind of an asshole sometimes, at least that's what Adam says, and...well, you know, um, I came on really strong back there, so I'm sorry if that wasn't something you wanted."  Brow furrowed, Dean chews uncertainly on his lower lip and Jared swears he can see Jensen peeking out at him from inside Dean's expressive, green eyes.

Faced with Dean's mounting dismay, his guilt-ridden babbling, Jared pushes his own crisis of conscience into the back of his mind to deal with later.  It isn't fair, nor is it even feasible, to put any of this on Dean.

"No, Dean, no.  You don't have to worry about me.  I'm a big boy.  If you'd done anything I wasn't completely on board with, believe me, I'd have let you know," he hastens to reassure.  "And I was very on board with that."

Putting an arm around Dean's shoulders, Jared pulls him in for a hug.  He knows the second Dean decides to trust his assurances by the way the tension drains from his body.  Jared places an extra sloppy kiss on Dean's temple, just to lighten the mood, and is rewarded by a chuckle and a light-hearted shove, as Dean untangles himself from the embrace.

"Sap," he says again, eyes once more alight with amusement.

"Yeah, yeah," Jared says.  Might as well own up to it, seeing as how it's mostly true.

Dean begins humming something that sounds like it might be from a 70's hair band - Asia maybe? - while looking around for the rest of his clothes.  His shirts and jacket are on the bed, his heavy-duty work boots and ankle sheath on the floor where Jared had left them.  He doesn't glance at Jared again until he's fully clothed, and then the look he gives him is inscrutable, as though he's been carefully reconstructing his armor and defenses all that time.

"So, I just wanna say thanks..."  He makes an all-encompassing gesture with one hand, waving it around in the air.  "I don't think I really thanked you yet for everything you did, bringing me here, watching out for me while I was, um, flipping my shit or whatever.  Goddamn harpies, man."  The lopsided smile he plasters on slides off before it has a chance to stick.

This is going somewhere, but Jared can't figure out where.  As much as Jared has learned about Dean, his mindsets, moods, and motivations, there's still so much he doesn't know.  The sudden realization that he wants to know everything about Dean makes his heart skip a beat.  It's foolish, and crazy, and not going to happen, because the first chance he gets, Jared is going to give Jensen his memories back.  He doesn't want to think about what that means for Dean.

He swallows around the lump in his throat and says, "Don't mention it.  I'm glad I could help."

"No, no, you went above and beyond and just...hold on a second."  Dean looks around the room, making a pleased sound of discovery when he finds what he's searching for.  Snatching up the pen from a side table, he takes Jared's hand, palm side up, and starts writing.  The scratch of the ballpoint across his skin tickles, but Jared holds his hand as still as he can.  "This is my cell number.  Call me if you see anything that might be up my alley, anything strange, unexplainable, that sort of thing."  He shrugs.  "Or you could just call me if..."  He trails off and looks away.

And then Jared gets it.  Dean is leaving.  This is his way of saying goodbye.

Dean can't leave.  Aldis is supposed to come wipe him, and where is Aldis anyway?  Shouldn't he be here by now?  Dean doesn't seem to have any trace of the hallucinogen left in his system.

There's nothing for it but to stall.  He can always use the remote wipe phrase as a last resort even though he'd prefer to wait until Aldis or Traci gives him the all clear.

"Say, you hungry?  I could get someone to bring us some food.  There's a cafeteria here in the spa.  Food's pretty good I hear.  From my friend.  Who works here."  Internally, Jared cringes.  He sounds like he's having a brain aneurism or something.  _Get it together_ , he admonishes himself.

Sure enough, Dean gives him a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed.  "No, that's okay.  I should probably be getting back.  My brother will be wondering where I am by now.  I didn't exactly leave a note when I left."

Jared nods absently.  Thinking on his feet is something he's usually good at.  Right now though, he's at a loss.  The television, shiny and state-of-the-art like everything else in the Dollhouse, provides him with his only other idea.  If this doesn't work, it's the wipe phrase.  "Right, well...how about I call you a cab then?  We could watch some TV while we wait for it to get here.  I bet there's a game or something we can watch."

Dean's jaw clenches.  He looks at the door, as though gauging how far away it is and how quickly he can get through it.

This is it, something he's said has tipped Dean off and he's about to bolt.  Jared opens his mouth, the remote wipe phrase on the tip of his tongue.  "Are you-"

That's as far as he gets before Dean sits on the bed and shakes his head, patting the space next to him, all signs of fight-or-flight gone.  "Hold up, Jared.  Come 'ere.  I wasn't going to call you on this, but...you've kinda forced my hand here, man."

Jared's mouth snaps closed.  Tiny balls of panic begin ricocheting against his ribcage.  There's no scenario he can think of in which this turns out good.  He sits in the indicated spot, or maybe his legs simply give out.  Whatever.

Dean surprises him - again - by taking one of his hands, a genuinely concerned look on his face.  "Jared, I know you're lying.  It takes one to know one, right?  Well, I was taught by the best.  Been lying since I was four years old.  Most of the lies I've told have been to protect other people - my brother, my dad, people who don't need or want to know about the things that go bump in the night."  He squeezes Jared's hand.  "Anyway, I can tell when someone's lying to me.  This isn't a spa, is it?"  Without giving Jared a chance to answer, he continues.  "I don't know what this place is, but I know it's not a spa.  Why are you lying about that?  Who are you trying to protect?  If you're in some kind of trouble, I can help, you know?"

Mind reeling, Jared stares at Dean.  Jared _has_ lied to him, Dean _knows_ he's lied, and still he chooses to believe the best of him.  It's humbling and Jared's respect and admiration for this man, who has had _so_ much thrown at him, and still puts everyone else's needs above his own, swells.

Jesus.  He's so screwed.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he whispers.

Dean grins at that.  "Try me."


	6. Chapter 6

_  
  
Chapter 6  
  
_

The Rossum Corporation and the Dollhouse.

Memory wipes and personality imprints.

Dolls and Actives.

Kripke and a show called Supernatural.

And the most difficult, Dean and...Jensen.

Starting at the beginning, Jared tells Dean everything.

He doesn't want to do it.  He'd rather cut out his own tongue and swallow a mouthful of rock salt than shatter Dean's world into thousands of false memories.  Telling someone that they don't really exist?  Jared can't think of a single thing more abhorrent, more demoralizing, than that.

He does it anyway, even though his stomach is churning with acid and his heart is beating so hard he can barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears.

He does it because Dean deserves to know the truth, even if he only remembers it for the short time until Aldis arrives.  At least that's how Jared rationalizes it.

For his part, Dean is a good listener, a practiced listener.  He maintains eye contact.  He knows when to be silent and just let Jared speak.  He knows when to ask questions, questions that get to the heart of the issue.  The only signs of his distress are his tightening grip on Jared's hand and the mask his face becomes, hard and emotionless, as though Dean is constructing a wall, brick by stoic brick.

When he's done, the room falls utterly silent, the tension so thick he feels like he needs thigh-high boots to wade through it.

Dean releases his hand, stands up, and turns his back on Jared.  

The rejection is like a punch to the gut, sharp, painful, and breath-stealing.  

"Dean..."  _I'm sorry_ , he wants to say.  _I didn't mean it_ , he wants to shout.  _It was all a lie_ , he wants to cry.  More than anything, he wants to take it all back, snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat.  This hasn't accomplished anything other than to create a chasm between him and Dean where it was all open fields and meadows before.  It was stupid of him to unload his problems on the one person who would be affected by them the most, stupid and selfish.

"Show me," Dean says, his voice as hard and emotionless as the expression on his face.  "I wanna see it for myself."

Jared is so preoccupied with thoughts of creating a time machine and going back twenty minutes to stop himself from opening his big, fat mouth that Dean's demand doesn't register at first.  "Show you what?" he asks around the boulder-sized lump in his throat.

"Show me this place...the Dollhouse."

The temperature in the room seems to drop a frosty fifteen degrees.  A shiver goes down Jared's spine because this is a monumentally bad idea, but he knows he's going to do it anyway.  Anything Dean asks of him at this point, he's going to do.  He glances at his watch.  It's the middle of the night.  No one will be around to see them except for the security cameras.

"Okay," he nods.  "But listen, you'll have to act like one of them, one of the dolls.  Just...walk slowly, kind of like you're not truly awake.  Keep your expression vacant and if anyone comes up to us, stay calm and don't say anything."

Dean's back stiffens, shoulders hunched almost up to his ears.  "Yeah, I get the picture."

The urge to go to Dean and console him in some way is overpowering.  Jared tries to imagine what Dean must be feeling right now and he can't do it, can't wrap his mind around what a total mind fuck it must be to hear that _nothing_ he believes in is true.  His whole life is a myth.  None of it real.  Like Neo in the Matrix.  The whole situation is impossible and he doesn't know how Dean is still standing, much less processing everything so rationally.  He figures if it were him, he'd be a gibbering puddle on the floor right about now.  Either that or he wouldn't believe a fucking word of it.

Jared hates himself in that moment, hates what he's done, and even if Dean punches him in the face - which he totally deserves - he won't let that stop him from offering what little comfort he can.  He puts his hand on the tense line of Dean's back.  When Dean doesn't immediately shrug him off, he begins kneading the bunched muscles between his shoulder blades.  "Hey, are you okay?  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have told you all that.  I don't know what I was thinking."

Dean barks out a short, harsh laugh that sounds a lot like a sob.  

Jared's heart breaks a little more.  What has he done?  He needs to fix this.  Fix Dean.  The solution is an obvious one.  He can't do it without Dean's permission though.  Not now that Dean knows what's at stake.  "Dean, you don't have to do this.  There's no reason you need to see the Dollhouse.  I can't imagine what you must be going through right now.  What I'm putting you through.  Enough is enough.  If I say the wipe phrase right now, it'll all be over.  You won't remember any of it."

Dean rounds on him, eyes blazing like embers, hands fisted as though ready to strike.  "Don't you dare, Jared!  Don't you dare even think about it."  Both his fists come up, grabbing Jared's shirt at the shoulders and shoving him backwards forcefully.  "It won't be over.  Not for you and certainly not for me.  If you wipe me, what happens to me then, huh?"

Jared stumbles to a halt several feet away.  He accepts Dean's anger, knows he deserves this and so much more.  With an ache that feels like an anvil crushing the air from his lungs, he stands still, presenting as easy a target as possible.  Whatever Dean wants to dish out, he'll take.  But instead of coming at him again like Jared expects, Dean doubles over, fisting the short hair at his temples, clutching at his head as though it'll explode if he lets go.  Pain is etched into every line of his body.

Jared is at his side in an instant, pulling him upright and wrapping strong arms around him.  "Dean?  What is it?  What's wrong?"  

Worry makes him rougher than he intends to be and he accidentally knocks against the swollen lump on Dean's head.  Dean groans and tries to pull away.

"Shit!  Sorry, hold still and let me see."  Keeping him close with one arm curled around his shoulders, Jared carefully parts the hair around the welt so he can get a better look.

The contusion is a raw, blood-red color, the skin inflamed, scraped off in places.  It's gotta hurt like a sonovabitch, but Dean hasn't once mentioned it.  

Jared hisses in sympathy.  "Is it bothering you?  We can get you something for the pain."

A shrug and a shuddering exhale are all the answer he gets.

Something is up with Dean, something crucial, and Jared can't let it go, even though he knows how much Dean hates admitting weakness.  He presses his lips to Dean's forehead.  "Talk to me.  Please."

Wounded eyes look at him, full of wretched acceptance.  "I don't know why you decided to tell me, Jared, but I know you're telling the truth.  All of it.  The moment you told me about him, it all fell into place.  It explains so much - the strange thoughts that seem to come from out of nowhere, the flashes of memory that don't belong to me, the, the..."  He winces and shudders through a series of harsh coughs.  "The feelings that I'm out of place, out of synch, that I'm doing things I don't mean to do, saying things I don't want to say.  Because I'm not me, I'm him.  Jensen.  I can feel him in here."  Dean presses a hand over his heart.  "And in here."  He points to his head.

The moment seems suspended on a knife's edge, like one reckless word from Jared and Dean's fragile grip on reality will shatter.  Breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts, Dean is visibly fighting for some type of control.  Jared matches his breathing to Dean's and then slowly moderates it, willing Dean to do the same.  It works and, after a couple of minutes, Dean takes a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face.  When he pulls away, Jared pretends it doesn't sting as much as it does.

"I can't think about that right now."  Dean says, his voice a throaty rumble.  "I can't think about him or...I'll lose it.  The only thing I know to do is to treat this like any other case.  So that's what I'm gonna do."  He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath.  When he continues, it's with a determined set to his jaw.  "You said there were a lot of people being kept here, used, probably against their will.  We need to save them, get them their lives and memories back.  You wouldn't have confessed unless you felt the same way.  So, are you with me?"

'Confessed' makes it sound as if he's played a part in stealing these people's memories and forcing them into slavery.  Jared supposes that, from Dean's perspective, it probably looks that way.  The first thing he needs to do is set the record straight on that account.  

"I'm with you.  I've always been with you, I mean..."  Jared trails off and tries again.  "I only accepted the job here so I could find a way to save you...and them," he adds, almost as an afterthought.  

Dean cocks an eyebrow.  "And what have you come up with so far?  How is your plan progressing?"

_ What plan? _ Jared thinks.  "Aldis is the key," he says.  "Aldis is the guy who designed the technology that runs this place.  From what I can tell, he's the only one who knows how the imprinting equipment works.  I've been trying to reason with him.  If we can get his cooperation, we have a shot at giving the Actives their memories and lives back."

Tongue poking into his cheek, Dean nods thoughtfully.  "Okay, how many Actives are we talking about?  Ten?  Twenty?  And what's the layout of this place?  Can you draw me a map?  What's the security situation?"

His questions are purposeful, insightful.  This is Dean focused on a hunt, Jared realizes.  Dean the strategist, all business, his leadership skills coming out front and center, everything else compartmentalized into neat little boxes, stored away to be dealt with later, or not at all.  Jared had hoped for an ally and now he's got one, probably the most capable ally he could have wished for.

Scrambling to change gears and catch up with Dean who seems to be miles ahead of him already, Jared says, "I'm not sure how many.  I haven't been here long."  He winces at how inept he must appear.  "Do you still want to see the Dollhouse?  Get a feel for the layout?  There probably won't be anyone awake at this hour except Aldis and maybe Traci.  There are security cameras in every room except this one.  I've never seen any guards, but I think the handlers kind of double as security when needed."

"It's night?  It's hard to tell without any windows."  Dean gestures at the windowless walls.  He bobs his head once as though in agreement.  "That's good.  Fewer people around is gonna make this a lot easier.  We probably don't need a map.  You can just show me where to find that Aldis guy.  I'd like to have a little chat with him, explain the situation, make sure he understands what's at stake."  Dean's posture is relaxed and his tone playful, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes.  

They're both heading for the door before Jared clues in that Dean means for this rescue mission to go down _now_.  He's done planning and has moved on to the action part.

Jared stops.  "Wait, remember what I told you about acting like you've been wiped?  That you're a doll?"

A grimace settles on Dean's face and he drawls a displeased sounding, "Yeah."

"Well... I just think it'll buy us a little time if anyone is watching the security cameras."

Dean's jaw clenches.  "Fine."  Then his facial muscles go slack and his eyes go blank.  It's a remarkable impersonation, so realistic that the bottom falls out of Jared's stomach.  

The door opening catches him completely off guard, but Dean doesn't break character, just stands compliantly at Jared's side as if waiting for instruction.

Aldis steps in first, followed by Christian whose dark hair has been pulled back behind his head in a utilitarian ponytail.  A red bandana is tied around his forehead.  If anything, the new look gives him an even edgier appearance.

One glance at Dean's vacant expression and Aldis says, "You had to wipe him?  Sorry 'bout that, dude.  I got caught up in an emergency wipe situation.  Gil was supposed to be out on an all-nighter with Ms. Smith, if you know what I mean, but her husband came home from his business trip early."  He flashes his white teeth in a grin.  "I finished up with him and got back here as quickly as I could.  Did Dean cause you any trouble?  The hallucinogen wore off quite a while ago, his vitals are all back within acceptable ranges, and Dean can be a handful when he's firing on all cylinders."  Aldis chuckles at his own joke.

Dean's eyes narrow and Jared can see what's coming, can see Dean snap, yet there's nothing he can do to stop the inevitable fall-out.  In less than a second, Dean has Aldis in a headlock, strong bicep snug against the dark-skinned man's throat.

"You," Dean says, voice a menacing growl.  "You're the one.  The tech guy.  You did this to me.  It's your fault I remember a father who never existed.  It's because of you I love my brother so damn much that I'd die for him, go to hell for him, and all he sees when he looks at me is some programmed, animatronic robot.  Fuck!  He's not even my brother."  The last word cracks in the middle like metal under too much stress.  "You play with people and you think it's funny?  You're one sick son of a bitch!"

Aldis claws at the arm cutting off his oxygen, his eyes rolling in their sockets.  His sneakers scuff the linoleum as he tries to find some leverage.  They make a dull thunking noise. 

Despite the satisfaction he gets from watching Aldis reap some of his just deserts, Jared knows the satisfaction isn't worth losing all hope of gaining the tech guy's cooperation.  He's about to step in when Christian says, "Dean!  Calm down, this isn't helping."

Dean does a double take, forehead creased.  "Do I know you?  I feel like I should know you."

"Yeah, you know him.  Well, Jensen knows him."  Jared explains.  "And he's right, attacking Aldis won't help."

Upper lip curled in disgust, Dean shoves Aldis so hard he backpedals until his feet get tangled up and he hits the floor.  Then Dean spins around, striding angrily to the opposite side of the room where he begins purposefully rooting around in the cabinets and drawers near the sink as though he expects to find something useful.  Jared just thinks he needs something to take his mind off where all this is heading.

"You told him the truth about who he is," Christian says softly as he watches Dean search beneath the sink.  "I can't believe you did that.  Jesus Christ, this is fucked."

Jared sighs.  "Yeah, I know."

From his ungainly sprawl on the floor, Aldis glares up at them, rubbing his neck.  "Nice manners your boy has."

"He's your boy as much as he's anyone's."  Christian points out, offering Aldis a hand up.  "You created his personality.  Although that doesn't make his feelings any less real.  His emotions are as genuine as yours or mine.  He has every right to be angry, don't you think?"

A full-blown pout appears on Aldis's face.  "I guess.  Doesn't mean he has to go all caveman with the brute force and the choking and the pushing and what not."

Christian rolls his eyes and blows out a heavy breath.  Pointedly ignoring Aldis, he says, "So Jared, are we doing this thing now or what?  'Cause I've got Clif standing by with the van running in the garage just in case.  Are we only getting Jensen out?  Or everybody?"

The confirmation of Christian's help is a huge relief.  And Jared had never even dreamed that Clif would factor into the plan.  He grins and claps Christian on the back.  "Yes, we're doing this now.  We're getting them all out, or at least giving them their original personalities long enough for them to make an educated choice about whether they want to be here or not.  Maybe the payout at the end of the contract is worth it for some of them."  He shrugs.  "I was hoping I could count on you, but I wasn't sure.  You're a hard man to get a good read on, Kane."

Scoffing, Christian says, "Yeah well, too bad we can't say the same for you, Padalecki.  You're like an open book.  I could read your intentions loud and clear, the way you've been fawning all over him."

Jared's mouth falls open.  "Fawning?  I haven't been fawning."

"You keep right on telling yourself that, son."

Aldis puts his hands on his hips, frowning.  "Wait, what?  What are you two talking about?"

Christian fixes Aldis with a steely gaze.  "We're talking about making a choice.  I've been telling myself I'm only doing what I have to do, that I don't have a choice.  But everyday it gets harder and harder for me to look at myself in the mirror.  And I can't do it anymore."  He pauses, shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders.  "I was wrong when I told myself I didn't have a choice.  We all have choices to make - about how we're gonna live our lives and what we're willing to do.  I've made my choice.  It's time you made yours."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish flopping around on the shore, Aldis stares at Christian.  "And this choice of yours entails what?  Going up against Rossum?  Freeing the Actives?  Like a massive prison break?"  He gapes.  "But...but...you'd need the originally stored personality tape for every Active.  They would each need to be re-programmed, their memories restored.  And not only that but, if they want any real hope of escaping the Dollhouse, the monitoring implants will need to be de-activated."

The look Christian gives him is that of a proud parent watching his kindergardener tie his shoes for the first time.  "Now you're getting the picture."

"Yeah but, how are we going to do all that without Alaina finding out?" Aldis asks.

"We."  Christian slaps Aldis on the back.  "You just said we.  Does that mean you're in?"

Aldis hangs his head.  "Shit, dude.  If you can't look at _yourself_ in the mirror, how can I?  Your friend is right."  He juts his chin in Jared's direction.  "This is mostly on me.  I designed the tech.  I have to take responsibility for how it's used.  It sucks though.  I'm gonna miss the hell outta this place.  Where else can someone like me go and have access to all this?"  He spreads his arms wide.

Christian grins, "Attaboy!  I'm sure you'll find somewhere to get your geek on."

"So, we're giving everyone their original personalities back."  Aldis nods sagely.  "Even him?"

Christian's smile fades as his gaze travels the length of the room and lands on Dean.  

Back turned, oblivious to the attention of the other three, Dean continues his search.  Casters rumble as drawers are opened and closed.  Hinges squeak as cabinets are rifled.  Jared wonders if Dean is taking comfort from the routine nature of whatever task he's set for himself.

"You think he's gonna be okay with this?" Christian turns to Jared, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard.

Okay is a relative term and not one that can be used to describe this situation in any way, shape, or form.  With as volatile as Dean has been, it's doubtful he's going to be okay.  Depending on how things go down, Jared may not be okay either.  

"I wish I knew."  Jared shakes his head wistfully.  "He told me he can sense Jensen inside him.  Could be the bashing his head took when he was under the influence of the hallucinogen.  Or not.  I can't be sure.  He says he wants to save the people here, get them their memories back, but I don't think he's allowed himself to take that to its logical conclusion.  In any case, he's handling this a lot better than I would if I were in his position."

Christian's lips thin.  He looks down for a moment and, when he meets Jared's eyes again, he's wearing an uncertain expression.  "Listen Jared, there's something I think you ought to know about Dean...and Jensen.  Not sure its my place to tell you, but..."

A drawer bangs closed and Dean bounds over, grinning ear-to-ear, a roll of duct tape held aloft like a trophy, effectively halting their conversation.  "Look what I found!"

"What's that for?" Christian asks.

Dean's expression turns wolfish.  "Duct tape has one hundred and one uses, my friend.  For one thing, I figure we can use it to tie up anyone who stands in our way."  Pointing the roll at Jared, he says, "You, I trust."  Next at Christian.  "You, I trust."  He cocks one eyebrow at Aldis.  "You, not so much."

"Hey!" Aldis says indignantly.  "It's not me you need to worry about.  It's Alaina.  She can be damned tricky."

"It's okay.  Aldis has agreed to help us," Jared explains.

"Good to hear."

In spite of Dean's nod and seemingly easy acceptance, Jared notices the roll of duct tape get secreted inside his jacket pocket.  Dean doesn't trust easily.


	7. Chapter 7

_  
  
Chapter 7  
  
_

The corridors are dimly lit by track lighting that runs along the floor near the walls.  Spaced at even intervals on the ceiling, glowing red bulbs the size of ball bearings mark the position of each security camera.  Their neon presence is impossible to miss in the deep shadows above them.  Jared fights the urge to make a face at the cameras as they pass underneath.  Cameras always bring out his goofball tendencies.  A family home video isn't complete without at least one extreme close up of Jared's face, eyes crossed and tongue protruding.

They walk slowly and calmly, Aldis in front, Jared and Dean side by side in the middle, and Christian bringing up the rear.  Dean has adopted his vacant expression again and Jared keeps a hand on his lower back, guiding him as if he were already in his doll state.  To anyone watching the security monitors, it should appear as though Jensen's handlers are simply taking him to the treatment room for his post-engagement wipe.  Nothing unusual there.

Once they reach their destination, Aldis is immediately in his element.  He puts a finger to his lips before moving quickly to a terminal where he accesses the camera feeds.  With a few rapid keystrokes, he programs all the security monitors to show footage from the previous week.  A dozen more, and the audio feeds from the embedded microphones in the room fall silent.

"That should buy us some time," he says, his grin one of supreme self-satisfaction.

Dean's eyebrows go up.  "That's awesome, dude.  What else can you control from here?"

"Lights, thermostat, anything hooked into the main grid, which is just about everything."

"Cool," Dean says, obviously impressed.

"Okay, what next?" Jared asks.  Adrenaline is already flushing his system, making him feel amped up and anxious, impatient to get moving.

"Next, we set up a re-programming assembly line," Christian states matter-of-factly.  "The Actives sleep in pods, five to a room.  We bring them in here, one room's occupants at a time.  They'll be sleepy and disoriented from the gas used in the pods to partially sedate them at night, so it'll probably take two or three of us to herd them in here.  While we do that, Aldis will locate their original personality tapes.  Then we get each one into the chair, download their memories and personality, de-activate the implants, and take them out to Clif and the van."

"What about the two people Traci told me were staying overnight in the clinic for observation?  How do we get them past her?"

Aldis's gaze slips off to the side.  He chews on the corner of his mouth for a second before answering Jared's question with a cryptic, "I'll take care of Traci.  She won't be a problem.  We'll leave those two till close to the end."

Christian, mouth set in a firm line, studies him as though he wants more of an explanation.  Jared sure does.  But after a moment he shrugs, turning to Dean.  "Okay Dean, what about you?  We could do you first, or-"

"I'll go last," Dean cuts him off, voice as hard as steel.  "It sounds like an all-hands-on-deck kinda deal and we don't know how capable Jensen's gonna be.  I'd like to make sure this gets done right, before I have to..."  His voice tapers off as he licks his upper lip and gestures vaguely at Aldis.

Christian nods, arms crossed over his chest, and it's settled.  No one seems inclined to think about what comes after, least of all Jared. 

The plan is for Christian, Jared and Dean to go together and collect the first group of Actives while Aldis finds and downloads the correct personalities.  It's also his job to prepare the program that will deactivate the implants.  Basically, anything technology related is Aldis's responsibility.  Once the first group has received their original personalities, Christian will take them to the waiting van while Dean and Jared start the process over with the next group. 

Jared learns there are three rooms with sleeping pods in them, enough to accommodate fifteen Actives, although three of the pods are currently empty - Jensen's, Chad's and Beth's.  Christian tells them that this is one of the smaller Dollhouses.  Some branches have as many as thirty Actives at any given time.

"Okay, I've got it.  Let's stop stalling and get going," Dean says.

This time, as they walk the halls, they're unconcerned about putting on a show for the video cameras thanks to Aldis and his skills.

The closest sleeping room is down the spiral staircase, behind the communal shower area.  A switch on the wall activates the semi-transparent lids and, when Christian flips it, all five slide soundlessly into recessed backdrops at the same time.  Four pods are occupied.  Three women and one man, all under the age of twenty-five from the looks of them, sleep soundly inside the coffin-like depressions in the floor.  Jared doesn't know their names, but he recognizes one of the woman as the Active he saw coming back from an engagement dressed like a hooker from earlier in the evening.

Not a one of the sleepers so much as stirs.

"We're gonna have to be pretty hands on here, "Christian says.  "The pods are designed to circulate air laced with a gas that keeps them sleeping deeply all night long.  In the morning, the vents automatically switch over to pure oxygen and the dolls wake on their own.  Right now though, they're in the middle of a deep sleep cycle.  Just remember, no loud noises."

He demonstrates by hopping into the nearest pod, kneeling next to the girl there, and gently shaking her shoulder until she opens her eyes.  He speaks to her in that soft, cajoling voice he uses with Jensen when he's in his doll state, infinitely patient and kind.

It's immediately obvious to Jared why Christian said it would take two or three of them to escort one small group of actives at a time into the treatment room.  The first girl needs help just to sit up.  She leans against Christian, her head on his chest, long honey-brown hair hanging in her face.

"They'll get better once they're out of the pods and away from the gas," he says as he lifts her up, setting her on the edge so he can climb out after her.

Leaving her there to recover a bit on her own, he goes to the next one, the young man.  Dean and Jared each follow his lead and take on the task of waking the remaining two females.

Inside his chosen pod, Jared gives an experimental sniff.  The gas must be odorless because he can't smell a thing.  He does begin to feel a little light-headed though, so he quickly gets busy waking the sleeping girl.

The girl Jared ends up helping to her feet just happens to be the one he now thinks of as 'hooker girl', which is wrong in every possible way, but he can't seem to shake that visual.  Now, she's wearing soft, light-grey pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt, a far cry from the fishnet stockings and black teddy of earlier.

"Where are we going?" she asks, confusion in her guileless, blue eyes.

He could tell her anything, anything at all, and she'd accept it without question.  Jared knows this and it fills him with sadness.  So many people have violated this unfortunate girl; so many people have taken advantage of her vulnerability.

"I'm taking you home," he tells her.

She tilts her head, regarding him somberly.  "Home," she says, testing the word on her tongue as though it has a flavor she's never tasted before.  "Yes, I think I'd like to go home."

Jared helps her out of the pod and she joins the two dolls Christian has shepherded near the door.  They flock together, taking comfort in each other.  Again, Jared is reminded of helpless sheep and he knows that getting them away from here is the right thing to do.  The only thing.

Dean is still inside the fourth pod.  The girl at his side has almond-shaped eyes and glossy black hair cut short to frame her face.  As Jared approaches she pouts and says, "I tried talking with him, but he won't answer me."

Sure enough, Dean's mouth is pinched tightly shut.  His face is pale and he's swaying with one hand clamped over the knot on his head.  

Panic engulfs Jared like a tidal wave.  His heart slams against his ribcage.  Traci's offhanded comments about Dean's alcoholic and self-destructive tendencies and what they say about the stress he's under come back to him in a rush.  Combined with everything else that's going on, a breaking point is lurking on the horizon and Jared isn't sure what that break is going to entail or how he's supposed to repair the damage when it does.  The idea that there's nothing he can do terrifies him.

Lurching forward, he jumps into the pod and grabs Dean just as his knees buckle.  "Easy, easy.  I gotcha," he murmurs as Dean gasps into his neck.

Peripherally, he's aware of Christian collecting the raven-haired girl and ushering her away with quiet reassurances.

A shaky chuckle from Dean gets his full attention.  "Wow, that boy's got some spunk," he gasps.

"What boy?"  Jared doubts he's talking about the young man who is standing demurely, shifting from foot to foot, beside Christian. 

"Jensen.  He's...he's pissed off, like royally pissed off.  He's trying to take control.  I actually think I blacked out for a moment there."  He pulls back just far enough to look Jared in the eye, but not so far that they lose contact.  His lips twitch up in a brief smile.  "I'm glad he's got some backbone, you know?  Makes me feel better about...leaving."

Jared doesn't feel any better.  In fact, he feels sick.  Listening to Dean talk about Jensen as though he's a different person, about leaving as though he's abdicating a throne to a rival, makes nausea burn in his belly.

Dean reaches up, cards fingers through Jared's hair, and brushes a thumb over the furrows in his brow like he wants to smooth them out.  "It's gonna be okay," he say, voice husky.

It won't.  How can it be?

"Yeah."  Jared nods.

Christian's gaze is sharp and appraising as they climb from the pod and rejoin him and his small flock.  "You guys good?" he asks.

"Peachy," says Dean and, when Christian looks at him, Jared gives him a tight smile and a nod.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."  Christian sighs, but says nothing else.

They successfully move their group into the corridor and that's where things start falling apart.  While getting one doll to cooperate is generally a simple matter, getting four to all move in the correct direction at the same time is nearly impossible.  It's not that they are willful or obstinate, it's more that they have the short attention spans Jared associates with toddlers.

One says she's hungry and the other three agree.  They all begin walking toward the dark cafeteria, oblivious to the fact that there's no food available because it's the middle of the night.

Christian explains it's too early for food and tells them they'll eat later, which they accept, however, they get distracted by the yoga mats laid out in preparation for the next class and decide some exercise before breakfast would be a great idea.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Exasperated, Dean says, "Is that what I look like?  Do I really act like that?"  He sounds mortally offended by the very idea.

Torn between teasing him and reassuring him, Jared puts an arm around his shoulders.  "No, that's not how you act.  In your doll state you're much sweeter."

Dean glares, but then his glare becomes a smirk as he turns on the charm.  "Well, of course I am.  I'm down-right adorable."

Jared just shakes his head and tries not to think about how much he's going to miss this.

Again, it's Christian who gets them all moving toward the treatment room once more.

Aldis greets them at the door, a broad grin on his face and a personality tape in his hand.  "I found the original tapes for everyone in that first room," he announces.

"Awesome.  You get to go to the front of the class," Dean snarks, humor making his green eyes snap.

The first to get her personality back is the raven-haired girl.  She happily gets in the chair to receive her treatment as all good dolls are programmed to do and Aldis begins buckling the restraints around her wrists and ankles.

"Is that necessary?" Jared asks.  "I mean, think about it.  She's gonna wake up in a room with four men, who she won't recognize, looming over her **_and_** she's gonna be restrained.  Don't you think that's liable to freak her out just a little?"

Aldis stares blankly at him, like it's never crossed his mind how that might make a person feel.  Empathy truly isn't the tech genius's strong suit.  "Well, technically a download of the original personality doesn't hurt and she probably won't squirm, but it'll be safer to have her strapped in on the off chance she decides she's changed her mind halfway through, you know what I'm saying?"  His eyes widen.

Icy tendrils of foreboding crawl up Jared's spine, his attention zeroing in on one particular point.  "Hold up.  What do you mean by 'technically'?  Haven't you done this before?"

"No."  Aldis shakes his head.  "I've never done it, although I've heard its been done at other facilities, just not at this one."

Jared's head swims and he has to take a deep breath before he can continue.  "But...the Actives sign a contract for five years and then they leave with a large paycheck.  That's that Alaina told me."

"Yeah, that's the Company line.  That's what all new employees are told."

"So once they're here, they never leave.  Is that what you're saying?  How is that possible?  None of the Actives I've seen are over the age of twenty-five.  What happens to them once they age out?"

"Oh, they leave.  Once Alaina is done with them, they disappear - here one day, gone the next.  I never asked what happens to them.  I didn't want to know."  Aldis drops his gaze.  "None of them got their original personalities back before they left though, that I can guarantee."

Christian yanks his hair out of the rubber band holding it back and runs his hands through it.  His movements are jerky, his face red with suppressed rage.  If spontaneous combustion was a possibility, Christian would be a prime candidate.

"You didn't know?" Jared asks.

Eyes blazing, Christian spears him with a look.  "I knew they were being mistreated.  I knew no one would willingly sign up to be used this way, no matter how big the paycheck.  But I thought they _did_ get out, go home, whatever, when the contract was over.  I never gave it much thought when I noticed they were gone."  He shakes his head, his fury turning inward.  "I should have."

This new information ups the ante big time.  Not only are they saving people from a morally corrupt company, but they may very well be saving lives.  Jared's resolve strengthens.  Grinding his teeth together so hard his jaw aches, he says, "Let's get a move on.  We still have a lot to do before morning."

Dean, who has been silent throughout this entire exchange, puts a supportive hand on Jared's shoulder.  There's a dark and twisted irony in _Dean_ having to comfort _him_ when by all rights it ought to be the other way around.  Screw irony, Jared thinks as he lets Dean's touch ground and center him.

The download goes off without a hitch, blue lights glowing, machine humming, no restraints required.  When the girl opens her eyes, she's confused and understandably frightened.  Jared pulls out the puppy-dog eyes and manages to convince her, relatively quickly, that they mean her no harm.

She tells them the last thing she remembers is walking home from a study group in Calgary where she attends Reeves College.  She insists the year is 2012.  Three years are missing from her life.  Three years have been stolen from her.  No one has the heart to tell her that part yet.

And besides, they don't have the time necessary to tell her everything and deal with the inevitable fall-out their news will bring.  Time is ticking down.  Jared feels the pressure mounting.  There are still fourteen more people to save, fourteen more personalities to restore, and they only have a couple hours before the other handlers begin arriving for work.

Aldis runs a small electronic device that looks like a taser over the spot behind her ear where the implant is embedded.  He swears the implant is now deactivated, although Jared can't tell one way or the other as there is no visible evidence.  He has to take Aldis's word for it.

They perform the same steps on the next three Actives with very similar results each time.  A pattern quickly emerges.  All four young adults were college students, all physically active, involved in sports or, in one case, gymnastics.  It makes sense, now, why all the people here are so attractive.  The Actives aren't a cross section of average people who decided they wanted to escape their lives for one reason or another.  The Rossum Corporation has obviously targeted them for their looks and their athleticism.  They only take people who fit their purposes.  It's quite possible that not a single one of these people are here of their own free will.

Christian then ushers all four out to the van with promises that they'll be told everything in due time.

As they file out the door, Jared asks, "Where is Clif taking them?"

"I know about a safe house nearby through a connection of mine.  It's well protected and he can get there and back in time to pick up the next group.  They can stay there until we figure out our next move."

Not for the first time, Jared wonders about Christian's past.  Safe houses and connections imply covert operations, espionage, and intelligence organizations like the CIA.  Just one more reason to believe there's more to Christian than meets the eye.

Jared looks at his watch - 4:11am and they're only down four Actives.  Eleven to go with about three hours until things start getting dicey.  They need to pick up the pace.

He and Jared go alone to the next sleeping room.  Luckily, this room has the fewest number of occupants.  The three residents, all female, are fast asleep in their pods.  One of the empty pods belongs to Jensen.  The other must belong to Chad or Beth, the two dolls currently under Traci's care at the clinic.

"We gotta make this quick," Jared says and Dean nods.

By the time they get back to the treatment room with the latest batch, Christian is already there waiting for them.

They repeat the same steps as before - download personality, employ puppy-dog eyes, deactivate implant, and repeat.

The five from the final room, four women and one man - the ratio definitely favors women as the gender of choice here at the Dollhouse - go the same way.

Jared's optimism increases.  They're making better time now, much better.  All that's left is to snatch the two in the clinic out from under Traci's nose and then it'll be Dean's turn.

Dean's turn to be wiped forever - obliterated as if he'd never been.

Jensen's turn to be restored.

Jared's heart stops momentarily only to start up again with a ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk, so hard it actually hurts.

Not yet though, not yet.  There's still time.  Time for what, Jared doesn't know.

Dean scratches absently at his arm, seemingly unconcerned.  If he's thinking about his imminent wipe, he sure isn't showing it.  "What about those two at the clinic?"

"Three," Aldis says.

Jared thinks back.  "Traci didn't mention a third."

"No, she wouldn't 'cause she doesn't know."  Aldis chews on the cuticle of his thumb, nerves showing.  "Remember when I told you we had a full-time Active, one who never gets wiped?  Keeps her alternative personality around the clock?"

Understanding knocks him for a loop.  "Traci," Jared says on a heavy exhale.  "Shit."

"That about sums it up," Aldis agrees.

Christian throws his hands in the air.  "How do we get her to sit in the chair?  She's not gonna do it willingly and the remote wipe phrase only works if the Active's handler says it."

"Yeah well, see, that's where we're in luck."  Aldis bends over a computer keyboard, clicks away for a few seconds before continuing, talking so quietly that Jared can barely hear him.  "I'm her handler."

Dean frowns.  "Okay, that sounds like good news.  So what's the problem, Einstein?  You look like someone stole your ice cream cone."

"Traci and I got here at about the same time.  They made me her handler because she and I are the only staff at the facility on a full-time basis.  It just made sense.  But even though I'm her handler, I've never had to _handle_ anything.  She never gets wiped."  He looks up, eyebrows raised, mouth slanted in a crooked smile, beseeching.  She's my co-worker, the only person here I can talk to.  She's my friend.  I was thinking-"

"No Aldis!"  Christian makes an abortive, slashing gesture with one hand.  "She's a person, just like the rest of them.  A person whose life has been stolen by the Company we work for.  And we're gonna give it back to her."

Jared risks a furtive glance at Dean from under his bangs, but either he's hiding it really well, or Christian's little rant about stolen lives wasn't a knife to his heart like it was for Jared.

Striking one last key, Aldis takes a deep breath.  "Yeah, okay."

The clinic's lighting is subdued in deference to the sleeping patients.  Traci is sitting at a small desk in the outer room, jotting notes on what looks like a patient file, when they come in, all four of them.  It isn't necessary for them all to be there.  Somehow it seems fitting though, like they want to pay their last respects.  Like it's a funeral.

She looks up in surprise, but a grin quickly steals over her face.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Aldis's answering smile doesn't reach his eyes.  "Hey Traci."  He puts his hand over hers where is rests on the desk, gives it a brief squeeze.  "You, uh, how are you doing?"

Her smile dissolves, gaze flitting to Dean and then back to Aldis.  She pushes her glasses up so they rest on the crown of her head.  "Is something wrong?"  

"No, nothing's wrong.  I just needed to ask you something."  He takes a breath and meets her puzzled gaze head on.  "A-are you ready for your treatment?"

The intelligence and awareness in her eyes dulls and brightens, dulls and brightens, like a trick candle that refuses to go out no matter how hard the birthday boy blows, each time reigniting, stronger than before.  The battle for Traci's life wages on silently within her, the personality she's had for so many years fighting for survival.  Although not a drop of blood is shed and not a single blow is struck, it's the most gruesome thing Jared has ever seen.

Aldis turns away, choking on a sob, unable to watch.

Christian swears under his breath and looks down.

Dean gently takes Jared by the shoulders and turns him around until they're face to face.  "Don't watch," he says, pulling him forward into an embrace, shielding him.

In the end, as Traci loses her fight and her light finally gets snuffed out, Dean is the only one to bear witness.


	8. Chapter 8

_  
  
Chapter 8  
  
_

Throat as dry as the Sahara, Jared risks a glance over his shoulder.  Traci sits, ram-rod straight in her chair, eyes vacant, looking for all the world like the doll she now is.

"Yes please," she says.

Wordlessly, Aldis swipes a hand over his face and leads her from the clinic, leaving the other three to collect Chad and Beth.

Waking them isn't hard since sleeping gas isn't pumped into the clinic.  They come along easily, Beth hobbling on her crutches and Chad coughing sporadically.

Traci still needs a full wipe because the remote wipe doesn't go deep enough.  Only the treatment achieved in the chair, with its invasive electrodes and wires, is capable of completely eradicating a personality, especially one as entrenched as Traci's.

Witnessing the wipe process is too traumatic for a doll, or anyone in Jared's opinion, so Chad and Beth receive their original personalities first.  Jared then takes them into the hallway, dragging Dean along with him and closing the door.

Even through the reinforced walls, Traci's anguished screams pierce Jared's eardrums like ice picks.  Any hope he may have harbored about sparing Dean this, the intimate knowledge of what he'll soon experience firsthand, vanishes.

"Is it always like that?" Beth, a business major from Surrey College, whispers.

"I haven't been around for many," Jared hedges, looking over the observation railing at the atrium below.  Gloomy darkness hides the raised dais, the large potted plants, and the cafe tables set outside the cafeteria on the first floor.  "Only seen one actually, but...yeah."

Dean is rubbing his head, face pinched tight in the expression Jared has learned means he's in pain.  "Me?" he guesses.

"Yes, I saw you getting wiped once."  Jared covers Dean's hand, the one protectively cradling his head, with his own.  He knows better than to ask if Dean's okay.  He's not.  "Jensen giving you trouble?"

Dean jerks a quick nod.  "It's pretty much constant now.  I keep telling him it won't be much longer, but he's not listening.  Feels like he's using a battering ram in there."

If not for Chad and Beth standing close by, watching them, Jared would pull Dean into a hug, maybe kiss him breathless, anything to keep his mind off the pain.  But public displays of affection don't really seem like the stoic hunter's thing and, even though he has offered Jared comfort in front of others, something tells him that Dean would be embarrassed by being on the receiving end of a soothing hug when he's not completely incapacitated.

Traci's screams break off with a suddenness that feels like a slap.  Jared holds his breath, not wanting to disturb the ensuing silence.  

Chad has gone startlingly pale.  Although quietly accepting of everything up until this point, the whole situation seems to have finally caught up with him.  Searching blindly behind himself for something to hold onto, his hand comes into contact with the railing.  He grasps it as though it's the only thing holding him upright.

Dean gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder with the hand not still clutching his head.  "Hang in there, man.  It'll pass.  She'll be okay and so will you.  You're all gonna be okay."  His words are spoken in a hushed yet sincere tone which makes Jared's chest tighten.

Not too much later, the door opens and Traci steps through, escorted by Christian, a confused expression on her face.  She's subdued and thoughtful, not at all like the bubbly, flirty Traci Jared has seen before.  This isn't the Traci he knows and it's odd when she looks at him without a shred of recognition.  To her, he's a total stranger.  They all are.  Sadness slices through him as he thinks about how Aldis must have felt just a short moment ago when that unknowing gaze had landed on him for the first time, staring out at him from his friend's familiar face.

Christian's mouth is a hard line.  He has a guiding hand on Traci's elbow.  "Let's get you kids out of here.  Traci, Chad, Beth, come with me."  Before he leaves, he leans in close to Jared and whispers, "Don't start without me."  Jared doesn't have to ask what he means.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he assures the other man.

Dean is leaning against the railing, studying his raw and swollen knuckles, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists.  It wouldn't be obvious to the casual observer, but Jared can see the minute tremors Dean is trying to hide.

Closing the distance between them, he rests a hand on either of Dean's hips, the jut of hipbone just barely discernible underneath layers of flannel and denim.  "Hey," he says and waits until Dean's fathomless green eyes meet his.  How easy it would be to get lost in those eyes.  "What you've done here...what you're doing, it's..."  Jared stops and takes a shaky breath.  "It's beyond brave, man.  It's amazing.  You're amazing."  

Tiny dimples make an appearance in the corners of Dean's mouth.  "Sap," he murmurs, voice fond and wistful.

Unshed tears sting the backs of Jared's eyelids.  He leans in, pressing his lips to Dean's.  

The kiss starts off sweet, but Dean deepens it, cupping Jared's face, tilting his head and plunging his tongue into Jared's mouth.  He explores every crevasse, maps out every corner, licks at the roof of his mouth and his teeth and sucks on his lower lip.  Jared lets him take control.  It's intense and Jared feels dizzy with desire.

All too soon, Dean pulls back.  "That's to remember me by."  His husky voice sends shivers down Jared's spine.

"As if I could ever forget."  A sob catches in his throat and Jared blinks hard to keep the tears from falling.  "I don't want you to go."  The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.  It's a fruitless wish and not something he should burden Dean with when he already has enough on his plate.

Dean averts his eyes, looking down at the ground between their feet as though he's unaccustomed to having anyone care if he stays or goes.  "I have to."

The answer isn't unexpected.  Still, a lump forms in Jared's throat and the tears he's been holding back begin to fall.

His sniffle brings Dean's gaze back up.  He wordlessly swipes the wet trails from Jared's cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed about letting his emotions get the better of him.  He's not usually the type to bawl his eyes out.  But he's not embarrassed.  This is the last moment he'll ever get to share with Dean, just the two of them, and he wouldn't miss out on this opportunity for the world.  This is his chance to show Dean that he matters, he's important to someone, he is loved and will be missed.

Aldis sticks his head out the door and clears his throat.  "So ah, you guys ready?  I found Jensen's tape.  It took me a while 'cause it wasn't with the others, but I finally found it."  He wiggles the black tape in his hand while giving them an assessing look.  His eyebrows go up when he notices that he has interrupted something.  "Or I could mind my own business and give you guys some space 'cause this is seriously awkward and I'm...yeah, I'm just going to shut up and close the door now."

He does and Jared can't help but huff out a laugh, lowering his forehead to Dean's shoulder, the moment broken.

Dean holds him for a couple heart beats, then presses a kiss to the top of his head.  "It's time," he says quietly.

Jared looks up to see Christian striding toward them.

They enter the treatment room together.  Dean sits in the chair without being asked, obviously wanting to do this on his own terms.  The chair has never looked more evil than when Dean lies back and seems to get swallowed up by the machine.

Christian stands at his left shoulder, Jared at his right, and Aldis at his head where he inserts the tape into a slot behind the headrest.  Tension fills the room.  Every expression is somber.

Dean looks up at them and tries for a cocky grin.  "This feels like the ending scene from The Wizard of Oz.  Which one of you three is supposed to be the Cowardly Lion?  And no cracks about me being Dorothy."

The joke is typical Dean, an attempt to lighten the mood.  For his sake, Jared forces his lips into an answering smile.

Inserting himself between Jared and Dean, Aldis reaches for Dean's wrist.  Jared isn't sure what he's doing until Dean growls, "No restraints."

Aldis shakes his head emphatically.  "Oh, hell no!  No way.  This isn't something you can grit your teeth, take it like a man, and tough your way through.  I don't care how determined you are or what you think you need to prove.  You won't be able to stay still without them and if you lurch out of the chair during the middle of the wipe, you'll be a vegetable, man.  You _need_ the restraints."  He takes a calming breath and his expression softens.  "It's going to hurt, tough guy.  It's going to hurt a lot, but you...I mean, Jensen won't remember a thing about it.  I promise."

The muscles in Dean's jaw bunch.  "Fine...just, give me a minute, okay?"  Demeanor deadly serious, he reaches for Jared, grasping his forearm.  "I keep thinking I should call my brother, Adam.  Let him know I won't be coming back.  Explain everything to him."  He licks his upper lip and grimaces, the dimples at the corners of his mouth briefly visible.  "Then I remember, he's not my brother and he won't care that I'm gone."

There's a vice around Jared's chest and with every word Dean speaks the vice clamps down tighter.  "I'll care," he says.

"No, that's not...I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad.  I just...will you do something for me."

"Of course."

"Say hi to Jensen for me.  Tell him...tell him I said I'm sorry."

Mystified, Jared asks, "For what?"

The look Dean shoots him is one of pure disbelief.  "What do you mean for what?  For hijacking his body.  For stealing three and a half years of his life.  For supplanting his memories, his personality, forcing him out, using him.  Take your pick."

"Dean..." Jared starts, not really knowing what to say, only knowing he can't let Dean take the blame for this, even though the blame is all of Dean's own making.  "What happened to Jensen and the others?  It's tragic, it's fucking unforgivable, but it isn't your fault.  You didn't ask for any of this."

Dean's gaze shifts to the side.  "Yeah well, neither did he."

Christian opens his mouth, closes it and pauses as if thinking through what he wants to say, then he begins.  "Listen son, I know you don't remember me.  All I am to you is a vaguely familiar face that you feel you can trust even though you don't know why.  But I know you well, probably better than you know yourself.  I've seen everything they've done to you, watched them torture you in a million different ways."  His voice quivers on the last sentence and he stops, scrubbing a hand over his face before he points a finger at Dean.  "You're a good man, Dean Winchester.  What Rossum Corporation did to Jensen and to you, that's on them...and on me.  You shouldn't blame yourself.  No one else does.  Jensen won't."

A tear slips from beneath Dean's long lashes, leaving a trail from the corner of his eye to his temple and Jared is grateful because maybe, just maybe, it means the message has gotten through.

Any response Dean may have made goes unheard as the door crashes open and Alaina strides into the room, flanked by two burly men.

"Where are they?" she spits.  "Where are my Actives?"  Her lips are devoid of her signature red lipstick.  In fact, she doesn't appear to have any makeup on at all.  Her luxurious, red hair sticks out in a jumble of tangled curls as though she hasn't taken the time to brush it yet this morning.  "What have you done with them?"

Dean hops off the treatment chair, agile as a panther, and takes a step forward, effectively drawing all attention to himself.  "What's the matter, sweetheart? Lost your toys?" he drawls, voice deep and deceptively mellow.

Eyes narrowed into furious slits, Alaina tilts her head and studies Dean.  After a few seconds she dismisses him, instead choosing Christian as the more likely culprit.  "You!  I should have known you'd be the one to turn on me.  As soon as I saw all the empty pods I should have known it was you."  Her gaze flicks to Dean and back.  "What I don't understand is why you saved him for last.  I'd have thought he would've been first on your list."

Christian's lips pull back, exposing his teeth in a feral snarl.  "That's your biggest problem, Alaina, you underestimate people.  You always have.  I'm not the one responsible, although I wish I were, and now all your Actives are gone and you won't be getting them back.  It's over.  You might as well let us finish up and leave before someone gets hurt."

"Over?"  Alaina laughs, a maniacal glint in her eyes.  "It's far from over.  I don't know where you've taken them, but it can't be more than a few miles.  Once I've found them, I'm right back in business, just as if your little rebellion never happened.  And besides, you've left me my most valuable asset."  She gestures at Dean.  "Jensen is worth more than all the others combined.  And even if by some fluke I don't get the others back, how hard do you think it'll be for me to get new dolls?  It's not like I have to recruit them or train them or anything.  All I have to do is pick the prettiest ones from the countless college campuses around the country."  Her malicious gaze travels over Christian and Aldis, finally landing on Jared.  "I have a good start right here with you."

During the few times Jared has been in Alaina's presence, he has always been uncomfortable under her calculating scrutiny.  This time it's worse.  Now her gaze makes him feel like his skin is covered in grease, slimy and dirty.  He fights not to let his revulsion show.

Twin smiles, the cruelest Jared has ever seen, form on the faces of Alaina's bodyguards or security detail or whatever the hell they are.  Both men wear crisp, white shirts and dark suits, expertly tailored to fit over their broad shoulders, barrel chests, and massive arms.  The expensive clothes can't hide their true nature though.  They're thugs, pure and simple.

The monitor Aldis is standing behind beeps three times.  Alaina immediately rounds on him.  "Aldis, Aldis, Aldis," she muses.  "You're responsible for bypassing the security systems, I assume.  You must have forgotten about the monitors I had set up in my apartment."  Her mouth forms a childish pout and she bats her eyelashes as though flirting.  "I must admit, your involvement is a surprise.  What's your role in this little uprising?  Did they threaten you?  Coerce you?"  She flicks an imaginary dust particle from her navy blouse.  "Not that it really matters one way or another.  I'm willing to forgive you.  I'll even let you keep your job."

Expression stony, Aldis shakes his head.  "I've made my choice.  I'm sticking with it."

The grudging respect Jared has for the tech genius grows.  "The only reason you're willing to forgive him is that he's the only one who knows how the tech works.  Without him, you're screwed and you know it."

Alaina scoffs.  "Please.  How difficult can it be?  I've watched him do it several times.  It's just a matter of pressing a few buttons.  I'll tell you what - since you have the insolence to question me, you can be my guinea pig.  If I fry your brain, I'll still have Christian and Aldis to practice on before it's Jensen's turn."

She sounds utterly gleeful at the prospect and Jared wouldn't put it past her.  The woman seems capable of any atrocity.  Leaving him a brain-dead husk wouldn't even make her flinch.

"Enough talk.  Take them," she says.

Her thugs take a step forward and, for a moment, Jared feels supremely confident.  There are only two of them.  He's not sure about Aldis's hand-to-hand combat skills, but even if Aldis sits this one out, with Christian, Dean, and himself fighting together, three against two, there's not a doubt in his mind who's winning this fight.  After watching Dean fight the harpies, Jared thinks the hunter alone could whoop both their asses.

Then the goons reach inside their suit jackets and each pull out a Glock.

The polished steel barrels gleam in the light from the overhead fluorescents as the guns are leveled at his and Christian's chests.  Jared turned his police issue piece in at his precinct when he gave notice and he hasn't missed it since, until now.

"Fuck, I hate guns," Christian mutters.

With a smirk on her wide mouth, Alaina says, "Don't kill my test subjects unless you have to."

"What does that mean - Take them?  Take us where exactly?  And what's with the - Don't kill my test subjects unless you have to?" Dean mocks, voice pitched falsetto high as he adopts an exaggerated smirk all his own.  "Just between you and me, sweetheart, I think you may be ladling on the extra cheesy, bad guy dialogue a little thick." 

Goon number one adjusts his aim, the muzzle of his gun shifting from Christian to Dean.

Christian's brow furrows, but Dean's smirk only grows.

Dean puts his hands in the air, sighing dramatically.  "Whoa fellas, there's no need for violence."

They hadn't discussed what to do in this scenario, or in any scenario where they get caught, which in hindsight seems ridiculously optimistic, or foolish, whichever fits best.  Jared knows that Dean would never give up this easily though, and that means he has a plan.  Backing his play, Jared raises his hands, lets his shoulders slump, and adopts an expression of defeat.  "Please, don't shoot.  We'll do whatever you want."

Christian gives them a baffled look, but also raises his hands, albeit grudgingly.

"I'm sure you guys are good at what you do.  You're probably both excellent marksman, but I gotta think..." Dean pauses as though mulling something over.  "Aiming in the dark makes things more difficult.  Wouldn't you agree, Aldis?"

"Yes, much more difficult, " Aldis replies and, with that, there's a single keyboard click and the room is plunged into darkness.

Acting fast while hoping that Christian has also caught on that Dean is up to something, Jared dives to the side just as shots ring out.  His chin comes into contact with a hard edge on the way down, probably a desk, and his teeth clack together audibly.  Through the buzzing in his head, he hears a pained grunt from his right, either from Dean or Christian, he can't be sure who.

"You idiots!" Alaina screams.  "Don't kill my Active!"

The gunfire continues, bullets pinging and ricocheting all around him.  Glass shatters and Jared feels shards pelt his hands and face.  Apparently, the goons are unconcerned about the repercussions associated with killing Jensen or anyone else.

From his position on the floor, Jared scrabbles around for something he can use as a weapon.  Something small enough to be thrown, yet heavy enough to do some serious damage would be ideal.  In the pitch black, his hand brushes against a slick, round surface, metal by the feel of it.  A canister?  Pushing up and hunching over so he can heft the object into his arms without presenting too large a target for random bullets to hit, he takes mental aim.

These thugs don't appear to be rocking the Mensa intelligence charts.  As long as they're basically standing still and firing their guns, which seems likely since they know they're facing unarmed opponents, Jared figures he has a good idea of where the closest guy's head is.  He closes his eyes - they're no use in the dark anyway - pictures the room layout, affixes goon number two's position within the room, calculates the correct velocity and arc needed, and heaves.

There's a muffled crack, a bitten-off curse, and one gun stops firing.  Jared follows up his assault by launching himself toward the spot from which the curse had come and he collides with someone tall and burly.  His momentum and weight take them both to the ground.  The feel of thick, starched suit material under his hands lets him know his aim was true, so he straddles goon number two's chest and presses his knees into the guy's biceps, keeping him as immobile as possible while leaving his own hands free.  One fist grasping a collar, Jared lets his other fist fly, once, twice, three times in rapid succession.  After the third satisfying punch, the guy goes still and silent beneath him.

Jared sits on his haunches and listens, breath coming in harsh pants, not so much from exertion, but more from the explosive levels of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

His relief is nearly palpable when he realizes that, at some point, the second gun had stopped shooting.  The only sounds coming from off to his right are those of an ongoing fist fight - flesh connecting with flesh, scuffling feet, and the occasional angry curse.  Either Dean or Christian, hopefully both, are on their feet and causing havoc for Alaina's remaining henchman.  It's the thought that one of his friends might not be on his feet, might, in fact, be lying on the floor, bleeding out from a gunshot wound that has Jared's gut feeling as though he's just swallowed a ten pound bowling ball.

"Aldis, the lights!  Turn on the lights!" he says, pulse pounding in his ears.

Aldis's voice comes from across the room.  "I'm working on it.  Gotta find a terminal that isn't smashed all to hell.  Fucking bullet holes." he mutters.

A moment later, he makes a triumphant noise and light floods the room just in time for Jared to see Dean deliver a vicious upper cut that knocks goon number one out cold.  His elation at seeing Dean alive and kicking ass is short lived, however, because Christian is on the ground, clutching at his shoulder as he tries to sit up.  Blood wells from between his fingers.

"Alaina," he wheezes.

A flash of red hair and Alaina's retreating back are all Jared catches before the door slams closed.

"I'll get her," Dean says, already moving toward the door.  "You take care of Christian."

Christian has made it to standing by then, but he's as pale as winter snow.

"Whoa, take it easy," Jared says, getting an arm under Christian's good shoulder and helping him into one of the few chairs still upright.

Head lolling forward so that his chin rests on his collarbone, Christian says, "I'm fine.  Just need to catch m-my breath."  His voice sounds hollow, like all the air has been punched out of his lungs.  Sweat covers his forehead in a thin layer, plastering hanks of long, dark hair to his face.

"You're not fine, you've been shot," Jared says, a little more forcefully than he intends, worry and exhaustion making his tone sharp.  He feels like he's been awake for weeks, even though it's been less than twelve hours since he woke up with Jensen pressed against him in the staff lounge.  "We need to put some pressure on it, stop the bleeding before you pass out from blood loss."

"Not gonna p-pass out," Christian says as his eyes slip closed.

"Sure you're not."  Jared presses down on the bullet wound, hard, wincing when Christian hisses and bucks under his hand.  "Sorry, man.  You're bleeding like a stuck pig."  He checks Christian's back.  "No exit wound, so the bullet's still in there."

Christian's only response is a thin moan.  He's not unconscious, but it's a near thing.  His shirt is soaked through and Jared's hand comes away tacky and ruby red.  A coppery smell fills the air.

With a calm honed at countless crime scenes, Jared says, "Aldis, run to the clinic and get a pressure bandage."  
Aldis is out the door at a dead run before Jared has finished his sentence.

"Hang in there, Chris.  We're gonna get you some help."

Christian opens his eyes to mere slits.  "No hospital.  Fix Jensen first, t-then take me to the safe house.  Ty'll know w-wha..."  His voice trails off as his body surrenders to shock and trauma.  Only Jared's restraining hand keeps him from tumbling out of the chair.  When Aldis returns with the pressure bandage and Jared unbuttons his shirt, applying the bandage and taping it down, Christian doesn't even groan.  It isn't a good sign.

Dean comes through the door just as Jared is re-buttoning Christian's shirt.  Ahead of him, he pushes a struggling Alaina, her hands firmly taped together behind her back with duct tape.

"Caught up with her in the hallway leading to the garage," he says, mouth a hard line.  Then he inclines his head toward Christian.  "How is he?"

"Not so good.  He's lost a ton of blood and I think he's in shock."

Dean nods, frowning.  "He jumped in front of me just as Aldis turned off the lights, pushed me out of the way, the stupid...He took that bullet for me.  Why would he do that?  I knew what I was doing.  I'd already started moving out of the way."

Jared shrugs.  "He's been protecting you for three and a half years.  Old habits die hard."

Dean thinks about that for a second, his expression softening.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I guess they do."

Alaina wrinkles her nose in disgust.  "I've never heard so much asinine drivel in my entire life.  What a bunch of losers." 

Ignoring her, Jared brushes some of the hair off Christian's forehead.  "We need to finish up and get him out of here.  He wants us to take him to the safe house.  Something about a guy named Ty.  I'm not sure, but I think there must be someone there he trusts, someone with medical training."

"Okay, I'm ready.  Let's get this over with."  Dean gives Alaina a push hard enough to send her stumbling to the ground.

"You're not going to get away with this," she vows.  "I'll track you down.  All of you."  Looking at Aldis, she sneers, "You'll never work again.  No one will hire you.  I'll make sure of it."

"I think you'd better stop worrying about us and start worrying about yourself."  Dean gives her a withering stare, his green eyes smoldering.

"Is that a threat?" she asks haughtily.  "I'm not afraid of you."

"Nah," he drawls.  " _I'm_ not gonna do anything to you.  But what do you think the higher ups at Rossum are going to do when they find out that their entire Vancouver operation has been wiped out - literally - under your watch?  I bet they aren't going to be very happy.  Or very forgiving.  Do you?"

Alaina pales.

"That's what I thought," Dean turns his back on her.  "Oh yeah, here Jared."  He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out the duct tape.  "Better tape her ankles together.  Those guys, too."  He points at the two unconscious thugs.  "Just in case they come around before we're done here."  Then he gets back into the treatment chair.  "Fire this baby up, Aldis."

Jared recognizes the tactic for what it is - Dean wants him too busy to think about what Aldis is about to do as he straps Dean's ankles and wrists into the restraints.  Yes, he recognizes it and is grateful for it at the same time as it makes him furious, and sad.  But there's no time for further good-byes anyway, so he gets to work, making sure the tape is extra tight.

He's just putting a strip of duct tape over Alaina's mouth for good measure, when Aldis says, "Um, we have a problem."

"What problem?"  Jared asks, looking up.

Aldis presses a button at the back of the treatment chair.  Instead of the normal low-grade humming sound, the machine makes a grating, mechanical whining noise and Jensen's personality cassette ejects.  Aldis holds up the mangled cassette.  The bullet hole going through the center is clearly visible.

Jared's breath catches in his throat.  Only then does he let his gaze travel around the room.  The destruction is widespread.  Almost nothing was spared some type of damage.  Glass and plastic shrapnel from equipment liters the floor.

"No," Dean says, voice pitched low.  "No, that can't be.  You can fix it right?  Right?"

Aldis slowly shakes his head.  "It's a complete loss.  And even if I could, the chair's busted too.  Bullet holes right through the central processing unit."

Christian starts shaking and Jared knows they're out of time.  If they want to save his life they have to leave now.  Blocking everything that he can't control from his mind, all the what ifs and what nows, he focuses on the one thing he can do something about, "Come on, Christian needs help.  Let's go."

Between them, Jared and Dean carry Christian while Aldis runs ahead to make sure Clif has returned from his last trip and is prepared to break as many traffic laws as necessary.  The big, bald man takes one look at Christian, limp and bloody, and begins swearing up a storm.  He ends with, "Jesus H. Christ, you stupid son of a bitch, what have you gone and done to yourself now."

"My sentiments exactly," Dean mutters.

They've barely gotten into the van, Aldis in the front passenger seat, Jared and Dean at opposite ends of the middle bench seat with Christian lying across both their laps, before Clif peals out.  The van rocks wildly as they take the tight corner leading to the garage's exit ramp.

Luckily, traffic is light what with the early hour.  The sun has only just begun to crest the horizon and Vancouver's rush hour won't start up for another hour or so.  They blow through intersection after intersection.  At a little after six o'clock in the morning, they cross a high rise bridge, leaving the city behind them.

Jared isn't sure what he expected the safe house to look like, But he two story, beige clapboard house in the quaint, residential neighborhood that Clif pulls up beside isn't it.

A big, burly bear of a man opens the door at Aldis's knock.  "Well, isn't this just fucking perfect," he says when he sees Christian.  "The asshole goes completely off the grid, not a single word from him in years, and now this - busloads of people on my doorstep and he's out cold so I can't even rip him a new one.  What a train wreck.  Get him in here before the entire neighborhood sees you."

The greeting doesn't inspire confidence.  They're already here though and Christian hasn't woken up once despite all the manhandling to get him in and out of the van.  Jared is scared for his friend, scared that he might never wake up again, scared that he might not survive a trip to the hospital at this point, so scared that he disregards the man's confrontational attitude and carries Christian past him into the house.  "He's been shot.  He said to bring him here.  Are you Ty?  Can you help?"

The guy huffs out an exasperated breath and scratches his bearded chin.  "Yeah, I'm Ty."  He looks at Christian, slung between Jared and Dean, hanging like a rag doll from their shoulders, and seems to make a decision.  "Bring him this way."

He leads them to a room at the back of the house.  A twin sized bed sits against the wall on the left, a first aid box worthy of any paramedic on the floor nearby.

"I've patched up this idiot more than once before.  Having the supplies on hand makes things simpler." he says by way of explanation.  "Put him on the bed.  I'll need one of you to stay and assist.  The others better go calm all those people you've seen fit to drop off here like I'm a goddamn babysitter."  He waves a hand in the direction of the staircase they'd passed on the way through the house.  "They're getting settled in upstairs."

"I'll stay," Jared volunteers.  Of the three of them, he figures he's the one with the most first aid training and experience in emergency situations.

A look of relief crosses Aldis's face and he nods, quickly backing through the door and almost running toward the stairs.  Clif mumbles something about moving the van to a more secure location before he shoots Jared an apologetic glance and leaves, most likely not to return.  It's okay.  He's done more for them than Jared would have expected and he can't be blamed for covering his own tracks.

But Dean stays, scrubbing a hand wearily over his face.  "I can probably do more good here than up there.  Done my share of patching guys up, my brother and dad anyway."  He shrugs, pain and exhaustion and worry etched into the lines around his mouth and the heavy circles under his eyes.

Ty is already at work, setting up an I.V. line with saline solution and preparing a syringe.  "Morphine," he says.  "Best I can do.  Hopefully, it'll keep him under while we work."

"Wish we'd had some of that the time I had to dig a bullet outta Adam's leg."  Dean grimaces.  "Unless...it never really happened.  Just another implanted false memory."  His shoulders slump and he falls silent, eyes gone distant and sad.

Ty gives him a side-eyed look, but doesn't ask the obvious question.  Instead, he hands Jared the saline bag.  "Here, hold this.  I ain't got no pole."  Then he peels Christian's shirt away from the bullet hole.

Jared watches as Ty uses forceps to dig through skin and muscle until he finally reaches bone and the bullet lodged against Christian's shoulder blade.  He finds out just how wrong he is about being the most experienced medical assistant when the bullet emerges from the gory wound and Dean is the one who sutures the shredded flesh back together, layer by layer.

"Best field suture job I've ever seen," Ty says, warmth and a grudging respect creeping into his gruff voice.

Dean's answering smile is genuine even if it only lasts a moment.

Ty covers his patient with a blanket, saying, "He's stable for now.  Wish I had some blood for a transfusion.  Without it, he's got a long recovery ahead of him.  He knew what he was getting into when he told you to bring him here though, stubborn sonofabitch. "  He shakes his head.  "I'll check up on him in a while.  For now, he needs sleep."

The saline bag nearly empty and Christian resting peacefully, the three men file quietly from the room.  None of them seem anxious to go far though because they stop right outside the door.  With Christian out of danger and nothing that needs Jared's immediate attention, his thoughts turn to the many questions he's been storing up.  He levels his best interrogation gaze on Ty, eyes sharp and expression flat.  "So, not to be rude or anything, especially after everything you've done, but who are you and what is this place?"

Ty leans one shoulder against the wall, hands stuffed into his pant pockets.  "Christian didn't tell you?"

"No, not enough time.  Everything happened so fast, within hours actually.  We had to get everyone out and..." Jared trails off, presses his lips together.  He's not sure how much he should say, doesn't want to admit just how little he knows about Christian.  They've been through a war together, at least that's how it feels, fought side by side in the trenches, relied on each other, placed their trust in each other.  Christian is more than a friend to him, he's a comrade in arms, a brother.  And he knows almost nothing about him.

Dean shifts from foot to foot as though he's either restless or uncomfortable.

Without conscious thought, Jared puts his arm around Dean's waist, tugging him closer so that they're leaning against each other.  They've both been on their feet for ages, tending to Christian and saving the Actives before that.  They're both bone weary.  It just seems like the natural thing to do and Dean goes with it, quietly melting into the partial embrace.  Jared doesn't think about how uncharacteristic that is for the stoic hunter until later.

Ty raises an eyebrow.  "Well, if Christian didn't tell you about this place then I won't.  You'll just have to talk to him when he wakes up.  As far as who I am, that's easy.  I'm a conman on my best days, a scoundrel on my worst, same as Christian.  We're made from the same mold, him and me."  He gives a sly wink and pushes himself off the wall.  "Neither one of us is any damn good."  At that, he walks away, leaving Jared even more confused than before.

He's about to call after Ty, pin him down and demand an explanation, when Dean slumps further into him and he has to readjust his hold, taking on more of the man's weight.

"Dean, what is it?  What's wrong?"

Dean shudders.  "I don't feel so good," he mumbles as his head drops forward onto Jared's shoulder.

All the air leaves Jared's lungs in a rush.  His heart begins galloping like a stampeding bull.  He should have anticipated this, been prepared for it, but he's not.  He's known all along that Dean isn't doing well, that having two personalities fighting for dominance inside his head has been taking a toll on him.  It's just that Dean is so good at hiding his pain, pretending he's okay, continuing on as if nothing is wrong, that Jared forgot.  He fucking forgot.  What kind of friend does that make him?

Ducking his head to get a glimpse of Dean's face, Jared cajoles, "Talk to me, man.  Is there anything I can do?  How can I help?"

A guttural keening, like the sound a wounded cougar might make, forces its way past Dean's clenched teeth.  He grabs a fistful of Jared's over shirt and hangs on as though letting go means certain death.  Then he starts talking in a low, brittle voice that Jared can only hear by pressing his ear beside Dean's mouth.

"He has a sister.  She's younger than him, his baby sister, Mac...Mackenzie.  He calls her Kensie because he knows she hates it.  But she lets him get away with it, only him."  Dean's breathe hitches.  "His family, they...they live in Texas.  He m-misses them, wants them to know h-he's still alive, he's still f-fighting this and he's not gonna give up.  One day he'll make it back to them."  He falls silent, shudders again, harder this time.  Tears run down his cheeks, soaking Jared's shirt.  He's a heavy weight against Jared's side, his eyes half-mast as though every bit of strength and stamina has been wrung out of him and keeping his eyes open is a battle he's destined to lose soon.

"Hey, Dean.  It's okay, it's okay.  We'll figure this out.  Just hang in there a little longer, alright?"  Jared jostles his shoulder, hoping for a response.  Dean's whispered monologue and now his silence is freaking Jared out more than he wants to admit.

Dean lifts his head off Jared's shoulder and blinks slowly.  A hesitant hand comes up to wipe at the tear tracks on his cheeks.  "What happened?" he asks.  "Am I cryin'?  Why'm I cryin'?"

Jared lets out a pent up breath.  "You don't remember?"

Dean shakes his head, eyebrows pulled down in a puzzled frown.

"I think you were channeling Jensen somehow.  Indirectly maybe.  It was weird though.  You talked about him in the third person, like you could hear his thoughts, feel his emotions, but they weren't yours."  Jared reaches over and swipes a thumb under his eye where it's still wet.  "How do you feel, now?"

There's a pause while Dean seems to self-assess.  "Better, I guess.  My head doesn't hurt as much."  He bites his lower lip and averts his gaze.  After a brief moment, he says, "I know what you're thinking and I've already tried."  His voice is shaky.  "I've tried just letting go.  In the van on the way over here."  He sways slightly and puts a hand on the wall, steadying himself.  "I figured as hard as he's fighting to take back control, I didn't need Aldis's fancy memory machine.  I should be able to let go, drop out of the picture, disappear and give him his life back."  His eyes close on a long blink, once, twice, three times.  Each time it looks as though it takes a greater effort to pry them open.  "Didn't work though," he murmurs.  "I'm still here."

Afraid that Dean will face plant before too much longer, Jared gets an arm around him and begins guiding him back towards the front of the house where he thinks he saw a room with a couch.  "It's okay.  Let's find somewhere to sit down."

"M'tired," Dean says, compliantly allowing himself to be moved along and sounding so much like he does in his doll state that Jared's stomach twists in a knot.

"Yeah, me too."

The couch is nothing special as far as couches go, but it feels like heaven as Jared sinks into the soft, blue cushions, bringing Dean down with him.  Dean is asleep, sprawled out like a marionette whose strings have been cut, arms and legs going every which way, before either of them can truly get comfortable.  Jared snorts in quiet amusement even as he worries about what it all means and how they can ever make this right.


	9. Chapter 9

__  
  
Epilogue  
  


** One month later **

Pain so intense that his vision is replaced by pulsing strobe lights, lances through his head.  Dean drops his fork, letting it clatter to the table beside his blueberry pie.  

The headaches are getting worse and more frequent, each one the precursor to new memories or the disconcerting blackouts.  He hates those periods of blankness when he doesn't know what he's doing or saying even more than he hates the excruciating headaches.  

His body starts shaking and sweating, his vision goes from blinding white hot light to dull grey.  Soon he'll lose control over his mind and his body and there's nothing he can do to stop it.  Nothing.

Footsteps alert him that someone has entered the kitchen.

"Hey, Dean," a voice says.  Ty.  "Pie for breakfast?  Really?"

Dean wants to make a snark-filled comment about the nutritional value of pie, but the thought barely forms before it's crushed by what feels like an anvil falling from the sky and connecting solidly with his head.  He must moan instead, either that or Ty gets a good look at the pathetic way he's trembling, because he says, "Hang tight, man.  I'll get Jared.  Just hold on."

_ Damn, it's cold _ , Dean thinks.

_ HUB Mall is covered in snow.  Huge drifts of the stuff coat every surface, including the walkways leading to the many restaurants and shops that make up the HUB area.  Most students elect later classes on Mondays and haven't emerged from the dorms yet, so the snow is relatively untouched.  The mid-morning sun glints off the crystalized ice like solar flares. _

_ Jensen hefts his backpack into a more comfortable position and tilts his head, letting a few fat, powdery flakes land on his face.  Snow is a new thing for him and he still finds it magical.  Growing up in Texas, he had seen precious little snow and his friends here at the University of Alberta, most of whom have lived in Canada all their lives, tease him mercilessly when he runs outside during a snowstorm to make a snowman.  Yeah, they tease him, but they usually end up outside with him, competing to see who can roll the biggest or the roundest or the overall best ball for the snowman's base.  These outings usually degenerate into snowball fights right around the time Jensen is looking for sticks to use as arms.  He loves it. _

_ His parents hadn't been happy with his decision to go this far away for school, but when he'd explained what a wonderful program U of A had in his field - environmental sciences - his enthusiasm had convinced them it was the right choice. _

_ He looks at his watch and quickens his pace.  He has fifteen minutes to get across North Campus.  If he doesn't hurry, he'll be late for Professor Singer's forestry class.  The man is a gruff, grumpy old cuss, but he knows more about the interrelationships between animal life and the different tree species than anyone else on the planet.  In fact, Singer is a very big reason Jensen choose this school.  His classes are always packed.  Being late means all the seats will be taken and Jensen will be standing for the next hour and a half. _

_ Someone calls his name, grabs his arm from behind.  Jensen doesn't recognize the voice.  He turns and... _

Air floods his lungs as he gasps and shudders into some semblance of awareness.  His eyes feel dry and gritty, as though he's been having a staring contest with someone.  He blinks a few times.  The room comes into focus.  He's sitting at the kitchen table, a heavy blanket draped around his shoulders.

A very, very heavy blanket.  He shrugs and the blanket lifts slightly, not releasing him, but giving him some breathing space.  "Dean?  Are you back with us?" the blanket - Jared - asks.

Dean.  His name is Dean.  He knows that, and yet...  Mouth parched, he croaks, "Did I make it to Singer's class on time?"

A hand rubs soothing circles on his back.  "Get him some water, will you Aldis?"

The faucet runs and a glass is pressed into his hand.

Everything feels disjointed.  He's having a hard time reconciling where he is now with where he was mere seconds ago.

"Drink the water, Dean.  You'll feel better in a minute."  Jared wraps a big hand around his on the glass and brings it to his lips, helping him tilt it at the right angle.

He's grateful for Jared's concern and annoyed at his own weakness at the same time.  He's cold from the snow and warm from Jared's steadying embrace.  He's both standing in the snow and sitting in the kitchen.  The dichotomy is disconcerting.  It's making him dizzy.

He leans into Jared's comforting presence and closes his eyes, letting the world settle around him.  Slowly, he regains his equilibrium.

"Well, that was different," he finally manages, opening his eyes and straightening in the chair.

"Yeah," Jared says, his voice catching slightly.  "Yeah, it was.  Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember..." he hesitates.  His memories are a jumble.  "I remember hurrying across the HUB.  I didn't want to be late for my forestry class."

This thought makes him stop cold.  Forestry class?  Since when has he been interested in forestry?  He doesn't even like camping.  Of course, his dislike for nature can most likely be attributed to his father.  John Winchester's lessons in surviving the great outdoors had reached legendary status during his young, formative years when he and Adam had been forced to hike the Appalachian Trail for five days, eating only what they could find along the way.  He became ill from drinking untreated water.  The last day was a torturous uphill climb and he was so weak from dehydration that he passed out.  Not before he reached the end of the trail his father had marked out for them though, goddamn it!

But wait, that never really happened, did it?  If the events that formed his hatred for camping didn't actually happen, does that mean his hatred isn't real?

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?" he says, distracted by the strange duality caused by loving and hating nature simultaneously.  It feels like his mind is fraying, like his memories are sections of an elaborately woven tapestry and the threads are unraveling.

"Hey bud, look at me.  Look at me, okay?"  Someone shakes his shoulder.

He turns his head toward the voice.

"Do you know who I am?"

He nods.  "Christian."

"That's right."  Christian looks relieved.

"What about me?"

Smiling, he answers, "Jared."  Like he could ever forget those sexy dimples or the sincere concern in those gorgeous, blue-green eyes.  Jared is his constant.

"Good.  And do you know who you are?"

That question is more difficult.  "I'm...Dean."  He frowns because it's not as reflexive as it ought to be.  It's right.  He knows it's right.  But there's a wrongness about it too.  Or maybe there's just an extra layer laid over the top.

"You are," Jared confirms, correctly interpreting his uncertainly.  "But, just now, during and after your blackout, you referred to yourself as Jensen.  You said ' ** _I_** didn't want to be late for my forestry class.'  You've never done that before.  You would've said ' ** _Jensen_** didn't want to be late for his forestry class.'  Has something changed?"

"I'm-"  The words get tangled, as though he's trying to say two things at once and his lips and tongue can't move in more than one direction, so nothing can get past his throat.

This might take some getting used to.  He puts a hand against his neck, coughs, and tries again.  "I think...I think I'm both."

Silence greets his statement.

With this revelation, the whirlwind in his mind settles somewhat and he uses the clarity to focus on his surroundings.  The first thing he notices is the four other men crammed into the kitchen, staring at him intently, the closest one being Jared who still has him encased in a bear hug.  Aldis is leaning against the counter near the sink, Ty is standing in the doorway, and Christian is sitting opposite him at the table.  Apparently, his blackout had been an all-hands-on-deck event, traumatic enough to bring the entire household running.

Blueberry pie filling is smeared on the tabletop.  The congealed, purplish trail leads to the crust and broken plate on the tile floor.  Did he do that?  He doesn't remember the plate falling.  He doesn't remember the crash it must have made.  No wonder he has an audience.

"When you say 'both', do you mean parts of Dean and parts of Jensen mixed together or is it more like sometimes you're Dean and sometimes you're Jensen?"  Skepticism and curiosity make Aldis's eyes bulge like a frog's, the whites contrasting starkly with his dark skin tone.  His inner geek is definitely showing.

The question is a legitimate one, even if Aldis's motives for asking it are based on scientific speculation.  He bites on his lower lip as he gives it some thought.  The more he thinks about it, the more he believes that layers is the best way to describe it.

"I'm not...it's not like before when there were two completely separate parts fighting for dominance."  He absently rubs the back of his head where the skin is still tender, but the lump has long since disappeared.  "It's not either one personality _or_ the other.  We're both here, all the memories that belong to Dean and all the memories that belong to Jensen, all the experiences that make up a whole person, only there are two sets of everything."  Struggling to explain, he holds out his hands, flattens them and then lays one on top of the other.  "Let's say this is Dean."  He wiggles the fingers on his bottom hand.  "And this is Jensen."  He wiggles the fingers on his top hand, then he interlaces the fingers together.  "I can remember being eight and watching my mom take a huge turkey out of the oven for Thanksgiving dinner.  But I can also remember being eight and watching my brother make bologna sandwiches for Thanksgiving dinner because dad was off hunting a nest of chupacabra that year."  He looks up, gauging his friends' reactions, hoping for a spark of understanding because he's having a hard enough time dealing with this himself without the third degree.  His headache is threatening a comeback tour, starting in his eye sockets.

"Fuck," Christian says, always quick with a witty retort.  "That's gotta be...weird."

Weird is one way of putting it.  He sighs and leans back against Jared.

"So, what should we call you?  Dean or Jensen?" Ty asks.

Another tough question.  He identifies as both Dean and as Jensen to equal degrees.  Choosing one over the other feels like denying a crucial piece of himself.  It can't be done.  His memories of Dean's life, even though they're manufactured memories, are just as real to him as his memories of Jensen's life.  But Dean's family, his father and brother, even his dead mother, are only actors who were paid to deceive him.  What does it matter that he loves them with everything his has?  Dean's job - saving people, hunting things - is obsolete since there are no ghosts or monsters for him to hunt.  Dean's very way of life no longer holds purpose.  It's all fakery and deception.  

Whereas, Jensen's family lives in Texas, at least he assumes they're still there, and they'll be overjoyed to see him again when he feels ready for that.  Jensen's passion for saving the environment is real and strong and worthwhile.

Eventually, he scrubs a hand down his face and back up through his hair, a mannerism he unconsciously recognizes as Dean's, and says, "Jensen.  You should call me Jensen," in a voice that comes out raspy and clogged with emotion.

"Hey, are you alright?" Jared asks, his head bent low and his cheek resting on Jensen's head.

He nods.  "Yeah, I'm alright."

He just wants the interrogation to be over.  He understands that this is a big deal, for everyone, not just for him, but he doesn't want to think about it anymore.  He wants Jared.  He wants some reassurance and some peace from the turmoil in his head.  Most of all, he wants to show Jared that this doesn't change anything between them as far as he's concerned.

There's one sure-fire way to get rid of the crowd.

He turns his head and nuzzles Jared's neck.  "I want you," he whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says as he pulls Jared's head down with a hand against his cheek and brushes their lips together.  

"Oh jeez, they're kissing again."  Aldis sounds disgusted, but there's a hint of amusement there too.

"Outta the way, Olsson," Christian shoves past Ty, anxious to beat a hasty retreat.  "And no sex on the table.  I hafta eat there, you know," he throws over his shoulder.

Jared chuckles without pulling away.  Their faces are so close that the breathy puffs of air make Jensen's lips tingle.  "You sure know how to clear a room."

Looking up, Jensen just catches Aldis's back as he disappears around the corner.

"That was the general idea," he murmurs and, standing, he puts his hands under the hem of Jared's shirt to trace the firm indentations made by his abs.  Jared's stomach muscles quiver as Jensen caresses the responsive skin.  "Doesn't make it any less true though."

"Doesn't make _what_ any less true?" Jared's breath hitches and his eyebrows pucker in that adorable way that means he's trying very hard to concentrate.

"I want you."  Jensen's hands find their way below the waistband of Jared's jeans where they massage heated flesh.  "I want you to fuck me.  Please Jared.  I need it."  He licks a stripe up Jared's neck and when he reaches the hypersensitive spot behind Jared's ear, he exploits it mercilessly, laving his tongue against the pulse point and sucking until he pulls blood to the surface and a moan from Jared's parted lips.

"You sure?" Jared asks even as he tilts his head to allow Jensen better access.

Jensen's body is thrumming with pent up adrenaline and desire.  He can't think of a better way to silence the discord in his head than to find his release with Jared pounding into him so hard he forgets his own name.  Both of them.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my whole life," he says, letting go of Jared only long enough to shuck off his clothes.  Then, completely naked, he pulls Jared back in for a heated kiss, his hands fisted in Jared's long hair so he can take control.  

Jared goes along willingly.  He lets Jensen mash their mouths together, lets him devour his lips, his tongue.  He tastes like the sour gummy worms he'd been eating earlier, tart and sweet at the same time.  It's intoxicating and Jensen feels drunk from lack of oxygen, but he just can't stop.

Out of breath and panting, eyes dilated, Jared finally pulls back and rasps, "Shouldn't we move this into the bedroom so we don't scar Christian for life?"

They probably should, but Jensen doesn't think he can wait that long.  The bedroom is way up on the second floor, after all.  "He'll survive," he says and, grinning mischievously, he hops onto the kitchen table, heedless of the blueberry pie filling.  "Right here, right now.  Come on, Jared."

He's well aware of the display he's putting on, hips resting dangerously close to the table's edge, leaning back with his elbows on the table and his hands braced behind his ass, semi-hard cock twitching in anticipation, naked and offering himself up like an exotic banquet.

Jared's mouth opens and closes before he finds his voice which comes out in a winded exhale.  "Jesus, you're gonna be the death of me."  He's quick to get with the program after that, removing his own clothes so fast that he forgets about his shoes and has to hop on one foot with his pants around his ankles while he kicks them off.

Once Jared is naked, Jensen takes a moment to appreciate the view.  He loves Jared's body.  His shoulders are broad and his muscles are well-defined without being too bulky.  He obviously lifts weights, but it's not to the point where he looks like a gorilla on steroids.  The dip of his hipbones accentuates the v-shape made by his lean waist as it tapers down to his groin and the nest of curls surrounding his long, thick shaft.   Jensen's mouth waters.

Taking himself in hand, Jared begins a leisurely pumping motion, up down, up, twist.  "We're gonna need some stuff - condom, lube."  His eyes become hooded with pleasure and Jensen wants some of that action right-the-fuck now.

"There's a condom in my pocket."  He points to where his pants are on the floor.  "And we can use the cooking oil."

"Kinky.  I like it."  Jared grins as he rounds up the necessary supplies, his dick hanging heavy and engorged.  "Nothing about you is conventional, is it?"

Jensen snorts.  "You're just now figuring that out?"

Oil drips from Jared's fingers as he opens Jensen up.  He collapses flat onto his back on the table, his legs swinging over the edge.  Jared's talented fingers delve deeply inside him and find his prostate.  Sparks flash before his eyes.  His muscles spasm.  Jensen arches off the table, gasping and straining, hips grinding upward, chasing the pleasure.  His eyes slam shut.

Then the fingers are gone and Jared is pushing his legs up so they rest on Jared's shoulders.  He's completely exposed, vulnerable, his hole open and needy.  "Jared, please," he begs, voice wrecked.

The blunt head of Jared's cock presses against his rim and, in one long, excruciatingly slow thrust, he bottoms out.  An exquisite pain pulls all the breath from Jensen's lungs.  A primal cry tears from his throat.  So full, so very full.

"Tell me when," Jared says and it sounds like he's been holding his breath.

Jensen gives his body a few seconds to adjust.  "Okay, okay now, Jared."

Jared begins a punishing rhythm, hard and fast, just the way Jensen likes it, pounding his prostate on every thrust.  Fingers grip his hips pulling them off the table until his ass is in the air, held up by Jared's brute strength.  The angle allows Jared to pump into him deeper and Jensen can barely breathe as Jared slams into him over and over again.

Jensen grips the table, white-knuckled, and uses his stomach muscles to lift his hips even higher, pushing forward on every thrust.  Pleasure mixes with pain, electric volts skitter down his spine, heat pools in his groin.  All too soon it's over.  Jared grunts in exertion, face red and sweat dripping off his nose.  Jensen tenses up as pressure coils explosively inside him.  He reaches up and strips his cock a couple times and then he's coming.  Hot white ropes of come cover his belly.  Jared yells, thrusts once more, and shakes as his orgasm takes him.

Sated, Jensen opens his eyes.  His body hums with the remnants of his release and he feels at peace.  Orgasms are the best.  He smiles at Jared.  "That was awesome."

Jared gives him a blissed-out smile back.

It's later on that day and Jared seems to have decided a serious conversation is in order.  He has Jensen sit on the couch beside him, cups his face and stares him straight in the eyes as though by doing so, he can impart some cosmic knowledge.

"Do you still wanna go through with our plans?  You don't have to, you know.  The guys will understand if you'd rather forget the whole thing and go back to school.  I'm sure Jensen was a student somewhere and if he...I mean, if _you_ would rather go back to your studies, no one will blame you."

Their plans are to destroy the Dollhouse, one facility at a time.  Between Aldis and Christian, they know where all the branches are located and what security is like at each one.  Christian and Ty have mended some fences between them and Ty has agreed to help out in exchange for favors to be owed and collected at his discretion.  They'll tour the Americas as a team, rescuing the Actives and disabling the facilities as they go.

Jensen is sure it won't be as easy as that, but it's a start.  They can make up the rest and overcome the obstacles that crop up as need be.

Getting on the road again, saving people, those ideals appeal to his 'Dean' personality.  Bringing down a corrupt organization, being part of a team, those are values his 'Jensen' personality can get behind.  No, he wouldn't give up those plans for anything in the world.

"School can wait.  This is more important," he says.  "Although, maybe we can make a detour to Texas.  Not right away," he hastens to amend.  He's not ready for that yet.  Too many things have changed for him.  He's not the same boy his family knew, not by a long shot.  "But soon."  The wistful quality to his own voice is apparent even to him.

"Soon," Jared repeats, kissing him on the nose.  "We'll take it at you pace.  Whenever you're comfortable."  He gives Jensen a long look.  "Just remember, your parents love you and nothing can change that."

Moisture gathers on his eyelashes as he blinks furiously.  While one half knows what the unconditional love of a mother feels like, the other half has only ever imagined how that would feel.  A four year old's memories are hazy at best.

"Hey," Jared says softly, leaning over and kissing his eyelids.  "It'll be a good thing, you'll see.  And after that, we can go visit my parents.  They're gonna love you too."

"Such a sap," Jensen tries to sound gruff, but a fond smile and a fresh tear betray him.

"You think I'm awesome," Jared states confidently.

He does.  On that, all sides of his personality are in total sync.

The End.

A/N:  This epilogue is dedicated to my best friend who kept asking about Christian's back story.  If not for her, Christian would remain an utter mystery.  :D

Well, it's over.  Whew!  This is by far the most complicated story I have ever written.  I hope you enjoyed it.

Now who's ready for some Innocents 'verse?  Innocents 'verse time stamp coming up next.

Please leave a comment on your way out.


End file.
